


In dark thickets

by fullofshame



Series: Blessed Glory [3]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Bondage, Celtic Mythology & Folklore, Cock Slut, Complicated Relationships, Dehumanization, Demons, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dubious Consent, Elemental Magic, Fantasy, Half-Human, Humiliation, Insults, Light BDSM, M/M, Master/Slave, Mentions of Myth & Folklore, Micropenis, Nature Magic, Overstimulation, Power Imbalance, Psychic Abilities, Religious Fanaticism, Royalty, Science Fiction, Sexual Slavery, Slut Shaming, Small Penis, Spirits, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, Undressing, Verbal Humiliation, Visions, Witches, Writing on the Body
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-09-24 22:30:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17109350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fullofshame/pseuds/fullofshame
Summary: A Liminal slave, half human and half spirit, is sent to investigate claims of witches stealing and eating children. It is of course just the tip of iceberg.When he comes back, he deals with his demanding emperor.





	1. Setting on crooked path

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! First story is getting started. I plan to explore more of world, so tell me what you'd like to see. Some notes on what I used you will find on the end of chapters.
> 
> Mind the warning, please, story will get much hardcore and messed up. In many ways.
> 
> Each chapter will have three parts, the flashback from slave's life, the plotline with accused witches and finally interaction with emperor, which is where smut will happen.
> 
> So read, I hope you like it and please tell me what you think.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trauma experienced, arrival to village rumored to be plagued by cannibalistic witches, and dirty talk with emperor.

He waited in cell.

They left him there, though it was bad form and impolite not to return tool after you were done with it, but then again getting rid of such poor, badly constructed tool is form of a kindness. No need for such things to be seen in public, and besides they didn’t have energy to  walk him back to stall where public slaves were held after hours spent watching him scrub cell until his hands  were raw and aching. And that was something to be thankful for, because Emperors led people to glory and victory and now humans were so wise and developed, and all that work should have been done by droids, but Dirt caste was still allowed to kneel and scrub instead of being wiped out, because that was their only reason for existence. It was  boundless mercy, kindness to allow them to fulfill their purpose.

The guards left, to take a drink, and he remained there, under eyes of cameras, frozen in position he was left, kneeling, hand hanging from the side, muscles numb and buzzing. He couldn’t move, wasn’t allowed to move. What worth was commoner who didn’t beg for each breath, slave who did something on his own, a Liminal that could think? Such things were for trash, for disposal, for rats and worms and unmarked grave, **Defunct- not working properly** stated on his file.

Ghosts wailed around him. Their thoughts were loose, unconnected, memories and emotions swinging at him like hammer. Ghosts were here for too long to remember their names, too long to have strength even to scream, let alone speak. Their memories  dug into his mind like jagged shards of broken mirrors, tearing his veins apart. Here a old man, beard tangled and dirty, thinking of sunlight on forest pool and sticks with which they beat him, a boy covered in bruises dreaming of apples and stones, there a armless woman remembering white cats and blade searing hot,  thin woman in grey rags, her ribs protruding,  filled with memories of her children laughing and crying, and he held his numb arms and tried to stop them from twitching.

The cell was so dirty with their anguish that his stomach rumbled with need to vomit. The spiritual pollution clung to very walls, claws of death and pain tearing through every stone to point he was wondering how demons haven’t manifested already. His whole body ached with desire to rise, to unleash his power against it, to purify very walls and floors (mages and priests leading annual purifying ceremonies were told to include special spells to prevent purification of prisons and labor camps, because criminals deserved nothing, they said) but he couldn’t, he would be shattered in seconds once cameras notified guards...

So he knelt and waited.

* * *

 

Paranoia was overrunning village like kudzu.

It radiated from everybody, from elder to child, from village leaders to slaves. A choking fear that hung over every house like impatient storm cloud, a silence brimming with tension, like moment when oil is poured on fire and starts sizzling, but there is second of  waiting before it lights up and scorches flesh of all nearby. For now it is almost calm, but soon it will break out and he knows very well who will be first to burn.

**The witches...**

**Monsters...**

**Demon worshippers...**

**Murderers...**

**They took them...**

**Our children...**

**They ate them..**

**Make them pay...**

**Kill them...**

**Take them back...**

The thoughts pounded his head as he followed the investigators ( thug, honestly, one of Armored, because when Empire was done conquering and warring all over world they realized they needed something more elegant and refined to deal with criminals then just public executions of whoever irritates random noble that day, so they took several families of drunk soldiers and renamed them in law enforcers and policemen), walking around with village’s board patrol (sneering all the while, under his helmet, and loathing and derision fill Slave Number 3768091’s throat, looking at these _small, stupid, weak peasants, oh how he hated them, he should be on vacation by now._..).

The border guards don’t know what to do, juggling thoughts and excuses, their minds reeling from one end of spectrum to another, brain cells apparently melting as they attempted to figure out what was safer, to present themselves as competent, scarily efficient force assailed by mysterious enemy with unholy magics that they would soon destroy, or tiny tragic victims grateful for aid of greater colonies in fighting against overwhelming forces of witches.

The Slave Number 3768091 trailed after them, every inch of body covered in Liminal armour, and each scared glance hurt like stab, each iota of disgust felt as if he is being fed oil. This is small place, proper place, kind where husbands beat wives and parents traumatize children but all inside, nobody has bad word to say about it, except it is small quaint village.

With misfortune of being located near mage community.

It is source of pride and frustration for them. There is respect, glory in it, in being willing to live so near monsters and abominations ( they weren’t, but unfortunately mages had to live somewhere, and Empire was too humongous to afford having great areas empty because of one mage settlement, so poor people got stuck there), to be first line of defence against their unholy, abominable work, and they were to be viewed with suspicion and loathing for to be so near such monsters one had to be somehow wrong too, right?

It would be miracle if anything got done with how investigators and guards were looking at each other. All smiles and politeness, and below that simmering resentment and such disgust that he had to stop himself from vomiting. It wasn’t enough that they had mages to torment and Liminal to abuse on basis of being lesser beings they had to hurl prejudice at each other for living in different areas.

 _At least they are looking normal_. Hundred such thoughts passed through him, alongside grumpy relief, that tasted of dust and broken glass, and images filled his head, of scenarios they feared, of strange and ugly and lesser people that could have visited them, because Emperor was _so good_ to allow life and chance to all, even those with strange eyes and ugly noses and different skin.

 _Perfect.  So that is no to taking off armor in vicinity of village_. Damned thing stuck to his skin, leaving almost no room for it to breathe, strange mix of metal, plastic fiber and  sterile aether, making his flesh itch, rubbing his very soul wrong way. He wanted to cast off damn thing, shatter it in pieces, run to woods and then, and then...

And then he should stop thinking of impossible, and listen for clues, though that isn’t expected from somethi...somebody like him at all, before they send him off to harass  poor mages in woods . He could walk in, among trees and birds, listen to secrets of snakes and foxes, dreams of herbs and bushes, lose himself in roots and wings, leave somebody to deal with human fantasies and frustrations and laws and...

‘’Please sir, my daughter!’’  The woman screeches, and investigator shakes her off, slaps her with heavy hand, his irritation buzzing at slave’s skin like wayward electricity. She falls, and dust stains her apron, impact cuts her hand,  mud covers her blonde hair, but she rises and pleads again, cries, and there is fear that makes his bones twist, thousand possibilities swirling through her head, and he almost shivers like leaf at wind from fear of investigator, of consequences, of him, and there is anger underneath, boiling and threatening to erupt ever as she buries it, at witches and world and investigators and above all, love, pure and blinding and selfish, because that is her daughter, her child, _she bore her, taught her to count grain, to examine bargains, changed her diapers, held her when she was sick, she can’t be gone, she still has years to go..._

Children are children. He steps into forest, and for moment he almost feels like home.

Forests preoccupied minds of man for longer then there were words or  cooking or blade.  To humans they were lost and alien places, full of darkness and poison, places where you couldn’t trust even your own mind. The place of unconsciousness, of secrets, of things they left far behind and wanted to see burned, place where children got lost. To mages forests were homes, sanctuaries, friends.  Those were places where you went to harvest herbs and commune with spirits, where you recovered lost secrets and connected with Earth, where you could  almost imagine what it would be like to be free. But to mages and humans both, forest signified one thing.

Monsters.

The wraith run out roaring from depths of woods,  smashing bugs and snails below it’s feet, and slave felt each death, each life being cut, felt their fear and revulsion and desperation, so simpler and more primal then that of humans, and sighed in relief when their souls managed to  get away-the Contagion liked big, strong things, and would never bother with such small, useless creatures. Of course, Fates wouldn’t allow that to apply to him.

In moment he jumped and run away from thing that was once a deer, impact settling in his bones, rattling his flesh. The wraith’s eyes were hollowed out, antlers and hooves bone white, remaining fur matted and coarse, skin turned in black sludge, something that couldn’t decide whether it was a mud or oil.  Stench of rotten body permeated air, and it seemed very trees and air shrank away from it, death and miasma everywhere, following each glance of beast. There was nothing in it’s mind but...

_Hunt. Destroy. Absorb. Conquer. Divergence will not be tolerated!_

The wraith deer run fast at him, faster then it should-not could, no, because no body used it’s abilities to maximum,  which demon inside was attempting to do as it controlled flesh like puppet. But that of course came with price. He could even now hear, feel it’s muscles breaking, tearing apart, but Contagion didn’t care, it just wanted him dead, dead and devoured and gone.

It roared, and it’s foul breathe made each nerve of his body scream, flare up as if electrocuted, as if his wrists had been cut once again and his blood pumped out, and he jumped away, twirling, barely touching grass, almost dancing, running away from wraith, from endless hatred in it’s eyes, from aberrant presence that sucked out all life and aether, from screams of trees, wordlessly begging for it to end, to be spared, for they just wanted to taste rain and bear seed, but Contagion ate them up, sucked and latched, and in distance Death laughed...

It tried to get him, again and again, roaring, following, thrusting it’s stolen antlers at him, while he jumped, run away, hid behind trees. Too many thi... people like him wasted their magical reserves, unloading spells and powers on first attack. He didn’t have such capacity to spare, so he would run, run as he always did, tire it out, wait for body to become unusable, and then when demon tried to flee, to find new host he would get rid of it.

The screaming filled his mind. It wasn’t loud, it felt too distant. It wasn’t human, he knew, too primal and flat for that, no words, just impulses and instincts, exploding in his head, the memory of running with herd, the stench of rut, of wolves chasing, antlers...breaking through... The deer soul inside wasn’t completely consumed, but it was on edges of oblivion, begging for anybody, anything to save it.

Well then, he had to remind Contagion of two things. First, that deer were prey, not fighters. And second-why it was Liminals mothers scared misbehaving children with.

He threw himself off ground, flying in air, reaching out with his aether, stirring his body with subtle movements of wind, slamming down on wraith’s back. It roared, and quickly shut up, wind pressing on deer’s throat.  He struggled to stay on dirty, slimy body, fur falling out as he gripped it.  With his suit, white and black, for moment it seemed as if he was just extension of wraith, rising from it’s back, until he reached out and grabbed antlers, bringing head up. With few seconds of struggle, he broke them off,  and Contagion tried to spread but it couldn’t, it had no way, no means, and drove them in it’s exposed throat, deep, below sinew and bone, in very soul, feeling it fade away, be lost to oblivion, dissipate, fall thrashing and bleeding to ground, barely getting off in time.

In sludge, deer died, and demon  was eliminated.  He knelt down, touching the sludge, taking flesh and bone and blood in his hands.  With thought, he dispelled suit  over his arm,  and over mouth, and jammed bones inside, cut palm on serrated edge of antlers, bit down in pale flesh, and brought it down again.

 _From me for you, a sacrifice willingly given, gift  freely offered_. So blood flowed, and so did his qi, and his aether. The soul inside drank up offering, aether for aether, qi for trauma, blood for miasma. He guided process, shapes deer back in his normal state, weaving aether inside soul, patching up what was lost and ruined, banishing miasma until soul was whole and same as before.

Immediately his mind was assaulted by barrage of thoughts (though none shaped in words), feelings, emotions and urges and impulses, each like burning arrow fired in middle of his skull, ecstasy and gratitude, worry and anger battling each other inside squirrel.

 _I’m sorry_  he sent  him, not words but meaning, emotion, as he let power inside him flow and reach out, flow like river and carry him to beyond, so deer could take journey they all must undertake someday, so he might come back in another life, perhaps another form too.

 

 **Such foolish child** , says, sighs, thinks  the Death, the darkness, the pain, all around them,  inside him, sent to small and silent spaces, as he bleeds more and more ( for oldest magic demands sacrifice, and blood is proof and seal of covenant), letting magic spread out, purify area, cleanse it of miasma and pain and demon’s influence, the power searing through very fabric of reality, restoring order and balance that were disturbed.

He wanted to pray, but he  didn’t know  gods of this land, and kami of his childhood are weak memories, so he had to keep silent and still, before he called back the suit in entirety and walked forward, deeper, as death follows him.

His arm ached. Pain was dull but burning, reminding him of times when children would get bored and play with him, or scientists would take Liminals to test limits of their endurance. It felt as if somebody scrubbed his skin  with wire, as if his skin was falling away. Wound closed after ritual was completed but it still hurt. he hoped it didn’t get infected at least.

The forest spoke to him. He knew what sort of animals lived in it, felt their hearts beat and wings flutter. He felt spirits sleeping in soil and moisture, smelled each herb and wood, tasted illnesses plaguing trees, heard bugs scurrying away, saw when rain would come, how rabbits would fare during winter. The whole of woods spoke to him, reached out and dug in his head, revealing it’s secrets, which fox stole hens, how green were needles of pine in morning, where spiders laid down eggs, how deep did roots of the oldest oak go.

It made him want to sit down, lay in grass, close his eyes and bury his hands in dirt. To let his mind and spirit reach out, to trees and bugs and bacteries, to ghosts and spirits and whatever else treads there, to become one with woods, to become branch and river and mold and fox and seed...

But there is job to be done. That is what he had been made for.

He wasn’t sure how much aether he wasted. Fifteen, twenty percent? A gap in his reserved edged him, made him feel sick and hollow and strained out. It wasn’t much, not when you heard it, but his capacity was already low, and once he started his body and spirit begged to continue, to use magic and then feed on others for more. Liminals were after all, half magic, a spells given body and form, and for them wasting aether was same as bleeding, yet their nature demanded they use their powers as much as possible.

He gathered what was left inside him, compressed all aether and pulled it down, making sure his emanations were too low to be noticed. A home of mages were near, and they would feel unfamiliar magic signature once he got too close, and if they figured out he was Liminal, well...

He felt them first. His power was small, but it was skilled and far reaching. He felt two mages, both of strength that was only slightly above average and far above his,  coming closer. First felt like a flame, gentle and inviting and nurturing, a flame that chirped in hearth during winter as family gathered around it, like soft shine of candlelight at altar during holiday service, like wound that was being softly, patiently cauterized. Other felt like the ground, dark and harsh and merciless, like dust that gathered in abandoned places, dirt that filled mouth of man buried alive, like stone that smashed head of criminal.

Frustration and fear radiated towards him, uneasy roll and mess of thoughts barely held together by need and hope, and he tried to ignore waves of igniting panic smashing in his head as he reached inside himself, felt each nerve and cell, every organ and bone-and _pulled_. It hurt, hurt as if he was trying to vomit all his organs, melt bones, twist  himself from inside to out, but aether washed over him, as he recalled where he acme from, recalled magic sleeping inside, remembered that he was born from flesh but conceived by spirits,, felt energy and power  pour over him, make him weightless, formless, easier and simpler than light, empty and fading and free...

Most ghosts held on forms which resembled their bodies at moment of death, or bodies that they thought were their true self. But slave, nameless mistake, knew that spirits were nothing but energy and memories, and that he could  turn himself in that, so that mages wouldn’t see him, wouldn’t think it was anything but echo of past, so common in woods like these.

It was strange, beautiful experience. To feel whole of world, yet not be weighted down by it. To be able to trust your senses because there were no organs to limit them. To have no body that could be harmed,  to never go hungry or tired, to just exist and be unnoticed by humans...

‘’And you couldn’t keep her in house?’’ _Damned children, no sense in one of them_ , came shrill, tired voice, frustration and heart clutching fear spasming across mind as short, bent old woman came near, balding head covered under dirty cap.

‘’I didn’t know! She thought it must be done, that it is her duty!’’ Image appeared in his head, tinted with worry and anger and love and pride, of girl his age, staring with defiance at speaker, old man dressed in shabby grey clothes, smelling of various herbs.

‘’And if that cheater says anything, they will blame us for every miscarriage and stillbirth in last thirty years!’’ _At least she did work properly,_ old woman thought with satisfaction, tapping ground with her forked staff. Witches were more common to rural areas, but they could be found wherever there were people, serving their community in small, subtle ways, by powers of herbs and charms, giving help to those that needed it most.

Even if Empire outlawed abortion decades ago.

‘’They would say the same even if  nothing happened.’’ Images flashed in slave’s mind, of boy who didn’t yet smell of herbs running away while his siblings burned at stake, their voices urging him to run. Old man started fiddling with his bracelets, made by hands that burned long ago.

‘’But they wouldn’t be able to file formal complaint against us.’’ _At least here we can live_ , she thought, with grudging resignation, thinking of her leaking roof and weekly human inspections, and then of fates that awaited mages in other parts of Empire, and clutched her blackthorn blasting rod.

‘’They would find something. They always do.’’ He thought of his siblings burning, of his son and daughter-in-law hanged, of his uncle stoned, and their faces etched themselves in slave’s mind, as did defiant eyes of man’s granddaughter. Fear filled him, made him want to wail, to run, to become wind and dust, hide forever.

‘’But children disappearing is enough for nobles to pay attention, to send...’’ _Oh, Emperors preserve us_ , and her aura flared, with darkness and sound of stone shattering, and rage and hatred and fear filled him up so much that if he was human he would fall to knees and rip his own skin.

‘’ Are you sure about it?’’ It wasn’t panic, not yet, but old man sweated and walked faster, and memories filtered through, of Wild Hunt and things inside, hybrids of spirits and men, running over land and sea and sky, white and black with eyes full of stars, as rivers of blood run.

‘’Perhaps it was mistake?’’ _They never stop, they never have mercy, they will eat up or bones and souls_ , please and it was truth, as much as fact that you couldn’t see stars during day, and if he had body yet he would have hanged head in shame.

‘’It isn’t. The dead told me, they brought spawn of bitch with them.’’ If he had body, he would have growled and jumped at her, but instead he waited and sneaked after them, as his mind was filled with memories of bloody altar and crying teens and old woman wielding knife and stone at children’s brains...

Well. What a fine mess they got in. At least there were no actual cannibals.

* * *

 

‘’You are finally back! What took you so long?’’ Emperor shouted, jumping and bobbling on bed, his smiling reflection reflected in dozens of mirrors as  Slave Number 3768091 approached. impatience and fussiness bobbled in him, boiled like overheated, rotten soup.

‘’ I don’t exactly have option of refusing orders, my master.’’ Slave said, his dirty, bloodied body reflected in pure, brilliant marble, bruises littering his arms and back, burned clothes wrapped around him. Emperor rolled his dark eyes, irritation and such _bad joke, you know_ pointed at him like darts.

‘’Why did you ruin your hair? It is awful, you were much more handsome before.’’ Emperor jumped down, and came near slave, raising hand then lowering it before touching slave’s scalp. _At least he has cool scars again._

‘’Demon possessed doctor, had to infiltrate clinic as nurse, he had fetish for roleplaying hairdresser. No skill though.’’  Revulsion, shock and envy blasted him, like gale bearing smog, and Emperor’s face scrunched.

‘’He didn’t know I was Liminal. Or even ma-Etherically Sensitive. And we never got beyond stupid talk and hair cutting before I exorcised him. And he  was very boring. And ugly. And...’’ Words flew out before he could stop them, justifications and excuses, while truth remained buried, all things he wanted to say, how it felt when man grasped his hair and told him _I will have such fun with you_ and lust fell over him, and no amount of scrubbing would fix it.

‘’Shh, yes of course, don’t worry. I am not angry. And you are neither of those things. Hybrid at worst.’’  _Worries so much, so cute_ , said the Golden Emperor of West, he whose word and sharp glance can have continents executed, and slave’s heart is filled with hollow, condescending compassion that makes him feel as if he had eaten plastic wrappings for hour, his teeth tingling from it.

‘’Thank you. You are truly most gracious and kind.’’ He breathed out, and emperor shone with pride and joy and _of course I am_ , as he jumped on bed again.

‘’Come, here. I missed you so so so much.’’  He patted down spot on giant bed,  which is held as so sacred men would be burned alive for touching it because it is holy relic that knows emperor’s sweat and skin, and slave knows how long they would have tortured him for touching the cloth, knows how old were forest and mountain from which it’s frame came, knows when slaves who carried boxes full of silk died under weight of them, knows which words mages and priests spoke when they cleansed sheets from miasma, knows how much workers cried as they made mattress, because handmade furniture is rare and they were ones picked to make bed for **Emperor**!

And they did it for free. Paid in joy and memory of receiving shallow thanks as they died alone and hungry, and it was said to populace gods made it for Emperor, thousand years ago. After all centuries it is still just as strong, memory and imprint on it.

‘’Did you find some new story?’’ Emperor asked, expectation underlined that of course stupid sex slave listened for stories and tales in middle of deadly job, even though if somebody noticed him they might smash him under boot as a joke, tales that might amuse emperor, who sits on priceless bed, thigh-high boots tracking dirt and mud all over it.

Later, he will offer to wash it, by hand. Emperor will think that cute and sweet and offering and natural, expected, and it shall be- only sort of offering he can make to those who suffered to make expensive, but beautiful relic, in hope it may be appreciated by their emperor.

‘’Yes.’’ He said, whispered, and desire swelled up in boy in front of him, dark and delicious, kind rarer then finest wine, found only under cover of shadows and moonlight, in moments of beautiful, absolute crime and sin- slave who speaks, who chooses, a legend not about Emperors passed down, a story allowed to be spoken, a man who changes and adds something to it engaging so in forbidden, aberrant _art_.

‘’ Once, many and many years ago, before first brick of this palace was laid down, and  wasn’t even a twinkle in eye, and you walked world under different face and form, there was young girl, a merchant’s daughter,  said to be the most beautiful girl of her age, such that all of Golden Caste desired her.’’ For it was forbidden, for ages upon ages, for love between different castes. Not that it stopped many, no matter the tragedy, or that law cared for who used prostitutes, free and enslaved equally.

‘’But as beautiful she was, she was mild-mannered and kind, speaking softly yet sweetly, such that everybody listened to each word she spoke, and learnt from that, for she was rather observant and reasonable, as much as her face was gentle and figure flattering, and skilled in her father’s business and fair in work as her  hair was impressive and her eyes pretty.’’ Slave wondered whether she owned other people, whether she cared for those of castes below, whether she dreamed of being somebody else, whether she had a mother she loved, but said nothing, for neither did tales.

‘’Do you know how she looked like? I mean like hair and such?’’ Asked boy, moving closer to slave. His mind whirled and buzzed, warm with irritation, because he had less imagination and creativity then skunk, and trying and failing to imagine protagonist from tale was so much effort that it left slave feel sour taste of annoyance more boy tried.

‘’No, they don’t. That is so with tales, the old ones- maybe back when it was first told there were more details, but they had been lost to time. And now everybody is free to imagine what they like. Anyway, girl was beautiful and sweet and kind, so her father had her married to old, rich merchant who sought her hand.’’ Boy frowned, and edged closer. Slave mused  how his master felt attraction.  That he had high, if oversensitive libido was no question, but in all years, even when boy was on cusp of puberty and discovering masturbation  (unsuccessfully, due to...technical difficulties)  and having wet dreams, he never fantasied about men or women, or any person other then slave, just of himself reaching orgasm.

But then, boy didn’t even think of  people other then himself and his equal Emperors in any other situation, so slave wasn’t really surprised. At least he didn’t feel like voyeur.

‘’The man was rich, and grey was common through his hair, while girl was barely on cusp of womanhood. She went to him as a bride, for she was dutiful daughter, and aware that if this man didn’t have her, he would make sure her family would be ruined. She hoped that perhaps, in time she might learn to love him.’’ Idea formed in boy’s mind, or seed of one, outline of girl who wasn’t even fifteen, who just started puberty. It was image that would form in minds of many, just as many would take boy off streets, unaware he was Liminal, anything other then slave and son of whore, and use him.

Slave hoped that girl was at least twenty.

‘’ At first he was gentle to her, full of compliments and expensive gifts, though he tugged her hair so that her scalp hurt for half a day, and his words made her feel as if she was doused in oil. But soon he grew cold, and uninterested in anything but dowry she brought and children she might give him, for he was a cruel, selfish man, and turned away to other women, unfortunate servants.’’ Desire and disgust swelled in slave, alongside  _What is cruel and selfish in that_ , and he twisted his face in grimace at thought of one of his merchants dallying with some commoner of other caste, just as he sighed with need at thought of slave’s arms around his shoulders.

‘’And so girl remained confined in her new, cold home, wandering unwelcoming halls and cleaning tables and statues, for he allowed her nothing more.’’ He wondered, did she try to help those poor servants, did she know, did she turn blind eye out of apathy or fear, or did she lash out her bitterness and fear on them in form of envy?

‘’And one night, a woman came to her, old as her husband, and dressed in same clothes he ordered her to wear, with hair graying but impressive, and pretty eyes, and told her she was old merchant’s previous bride. But when girl awoke and inquired about her, she found nothing but silence or rage.’’  How did she feel, dreaming, and waking up? Did she scream and shudder, or did she already know that it was a vision?

‘’And one other night, after she spent months secretly searching for proof of woman’s existence-for she wasn’t allowed to go to town hall, or access records in any capacity, she dreamed of woman again, who told her that she married her husband when they were both girl’s age, when she was most beautiful merchant’s daughter in land. But as they grew old, his taste stayed same, and he grew to despise her wrinkles and grey hair.’’ For humans always feared age and death, while he and mages walked world seeing dead everywhere, but even among mages many men failed to notice they possessed traits they criticized others for.

‘’And she noticed how he sought after more women, and listened for rumors of new, more beautiful girl, and in dream did old woman confess to her that when he got tired of her, man went to a sorcerer, who pulled out her soul and placed it in statue, and put many spell on it so that she might not to get out.’’ He wondered whether girl was mage, to dream spirits and secrets, and whether old woman was one, to find her way out of web of seals and curses.

‘’And indeed, she found a statue old woman described to her in hidden halls of her new home, and after some digging found name of sorcerer who cursed poor woman. She threatened to expose him, until he promised to help her.’’ Or perhaps she accomplished everything alone. Who could knows.

‘’And when one night she called her husband to her chambers, he found himself at end of spell. His first wife was freed and her spirit put to rest, while he was cursed in her place, and statue was thrown to bottom of sea. And beautiful girl lived to be old and wrinkled, but still as kind and reasonable, controlling her new fortune then giving it to children of husband she chose, and died content and happy.’’ The boy in front of him didn’t think much, and his mind buzzed empty with white noise, while lull of tiny confusion washed over him ( for he wasn’t used to stories that didn’t star one of his previous lives, and in which rich and powerful were punished), and contentment that slave brought him something so strange and unfamiliar and new.

‘’ I like your voice. It is nice to listen to. Undress me now, I got tired of droids undressing me.’’ They both shudder, with lust and desire not contained in words, and still slave after all these years glances at doors, fearing cameras or droid or servant or something will catch them, will drag him to most feared prison and turn him to bloody pulp.

‘’Really? And not of being helpless? You know, basically every  five year old child can undress themselves. And they are illiterate!’’ _But I am Emperor!_ , went through slave’s head, ringing like bells, full of tingling astonishment and shame. For man of such breeding and position was so far above mundane men that partaking in lowly activities was stain on his honor, that only nobles and his subordinated Golden Caste may touch him, and even they needed permission.

‘’Shut up, you are being dumb again. Just do it.’’ The boy spat out, oh oh oh going through his head as his breath hitched up when slave moved closer, when boy felt his hot breath on his throat, close enough to sink teeth in.

‘’As you order, Your Glorious Majesty.’’ With that, slave laid down hands on boy, and pushed him in mattress, back curved and impressive ass all laid out as he coughed, teeth biting in sheets as if by instinct, fireworks exploding in brain, each single touch of slave’s calloused, cut arms sending bursts of pleasure down to his very marrow.

‘’You look amazing like this. It feels like your natural state.’’ He chuckled out, laying fingers on thick, nicely shaped ass, dragging them slowly, over leather clad body, feeling slim yet defined muscles under, grasping shoulders. The boy shivered and moaned, his whole body trembling, twitching, skin growing hotter to touch, pleasure running through his whole body, mind spinning as he almost screamed.

‘’Can’t you control yourself at all? Please, I already know you are insatiable cockslut, no need to prove it.’’ The leather clothes stretched tight over boy’s skin, such that he could see each muscle, covering smooth, shaved body, which quivered as he danced with nails over it, _ah aha aha ah please more_ leaving mouth and mind.

‘’You know, every child is told that you are perfect being. That everybody is born with some purpose, and that you alone can do all we can, better then any of us. I didn’t believe that to be honest. How could somebody like you ever do my duty, the duty of my family?’’ _Really_ , asked the boy with his mind,  because his mouth was busy biting into sheets, spilling saliva like bitch in heat.

‘’But now I see I was wrong. You are truly better then any whore in the world. Whatever brothel owned you would be truly blessed. They’d know immediately that you were made for it from moment they saw that joke you dare call dick. They’d set you up and have you work to utmost limits of your considerable talent.’’ He dragged hands all over boy’s back,  delighting in way boy shook and tensed at friction, how he gasped and let out high pitched squeal when slave pulled out his tight shirt, tucked in pants, and pushed it up to chest, pressing forehead on shoulder blades, making boy scream, a sound that echoed all across room, pressure in his head pounding once slave touched skin with his branded forehead, as if trying to transfer mark of Common Property to him, kissing him up and down spine, over skin free of insults and names written that best described his function, his nature, each kiss filling boy up with wonder and longing and shame, thick as caramel, heavy as smoke, demanding _more more more more more_ , saying _Thank you, thank you, you are so kind, so sweet, please more, thank you._

‘’Of course, there would be drawbacks.  You would never be able to pleasure woman, but hey they can teach you to eat pussy, plus there would be great grow in strap-on sale. And there would be no need for other prostitutes, because you would be servicing whole town, but hey they can always move to other places of work, ones where there isn’t mega tramp to compete with.’’ With quick, nimble work of fingers, he pulled out belt, and tied boy’s well shaped but absolutely skill-less hands together, ache of it echoing in slave’s muscles, alongside pleasure exploding, shining in boy’s mind.

‘’And you would get benefits out of it. Only ten hours of work, eight to train to sculpt that body to be pretty enough, and maybe even up to six hours of sleep. Every slave and sex worker would envy you! Well, on fame, not on absolute lack of anything resembling dignity and reason or masculinity.’’ _Please sir, please sir, give it to me, I can’t anymore_ , slut whined, lust simmering sweet and high as slut’s pants were pushed down to below knees, exposing smooth, tanned, fat ass-and no underwear, bunch of cloth he placed instead of crotch falling out.

‘’They would say that ridiculous excuse for boyhood is sign from gods you were made to be fucked. Would be right, of course. You wouldn’t get a name or even number,  everybody in world would know you for giant MICROPEEN branded on you-only thing that will ever get big about it.’’ _Please sir, please master, I need it, have mercy, let me,_ slut cried, snot falling down and eyes rolling back as man smirked, lightly slapping slut over ass as he flipped slut over, exposing his miniature joke of penis, pink mockery about as big as nipple, hanging flaccid, barely noticeable, begging to be laughed at.

‘’Day and night, everybody would use you. In fact, they would get fortune each day if they charged use half of coin for hour of use. And they would have to chain you down because you would throw yourself on each passing man. That would be part of why you would be only toy they’d have- rest of brothel wouldn’t be able to resist using you after you offer your ass and throat.’’ _My sir, my master, my lord, please have mercy-ahaha aughhhh aya ay please ah mercy_ , the slut’s mind screamed as his tongue fell out, face pink and flushed, tears collecting in corners of his eyes as he wrapped his strong, lean legs around man’s waist, skin and leather rubbing over dirty rags and bruised body.

‘’You would be stuffed full of dick every day. Couldn’t go without at least two in both of your holes every day, begging to be filled up until those pretty lips and that greedy asshole are both swollen and aching, and it wouldn’t be enough for you, would it? You’d just suck more and more.’’ _Yes yes yes all right, I can’t, please let, please gift me that_ , please free me, screamed the slut’s mind as his mouth let out sobs, as his dicklet remained soft (not that it would have been bigger otherwise), rendered impotent by potions slave had to administer him once in while to control his incredibly sensitive, prematurely coming member.

‘’They would have to keep you bound. Perhaps stuck in wall. After all, slut like you would try to climb up on every dick in vicinity. Pity, however, that they then wouldn’t be able to see all those great poses you make, all positions you would be able to take it in.’’ Slut jumped, rubbed bottom over man’s crotch, his bones rattling with need, tears falling down as weeks of pent-up lust were starting tog et unleashed. A brat used to instant gratification, this experience was utterly alien and uncomfortable to him.  Slut rubbed his back up and down sheets with such strength that it was wonder shirt didn’t rip, hands wiggling as if they could escape belt.

‘’And of course, your handlers would use you all the time during training. But they wouldn’t be so kind as customers, wouldn’t worry about being too rough-after all, they’d own you, wouldn’t have to worry about damaging you. Plus they’d have to make up for all effort they would waste on you- because you would still be spoilt, needy bitch, whose whining would wake up whole street in middle of night.’’ _Please mercy master, mercy please sir, lord mercy please_ , cried out the slut as man rose his leg, pushing down the pants below, one leg of tight pants out, leg in boot flying in air, kicking and screaming, and man didn’t pay attention to it, to pain, just as he didn’t notice metal collar chafing at his throat.

‘’Still, they would have a blast playing with you. You would have no problem with being cum dumpster, you would cry if you weren’t covered in cum for each meal- I can hear them laughing, you know, over those perverted lewd faces you’d make. Only delusion they’d have to cure you of would be that foolish notion that you can qualify for man with _that_.’’ Words were gone, sighs and moans low and silent, body slightly quivering as images filled slut’s head, fantasies of whips and chains, of laughter and dicks of all kinds and shapes, and thick cum drying all over him, inside him making slave shiver until he wasn’t sure what was fantasy and what memory, while lust dried out all energy from slut, his bones heavy and tired.

‘’Truly, you are inspiration to us all. If only we could be as talented at swallowing cocks as you are.’’ _Oh. Thank you, master. To think you look up at me_... And he drifted off to content sleep with smile as he stared at those  guarded eyes, stars flickering in them, something inhuman and magical and lost, eyes falling closed, darkness taking him in it’s embrace, being ready for dreams of desires and wishes he would never admit to.

Slave glanced over brat sleeping at giant bed, pants hanging, boots and legs held crooked, exposing his shameful cocklette. He took off belt, but let boy remain sleeping like that- it was pretty warm, and room was well insulated, before he  took device from table and snapped several pictures with rather interesting composition.

And then he laid down to floor, and his reflection mouthed secrets and observations to him, as he waited for nightmares to come.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for getting this far. Hope you liked it.
> 
> Liminal- half human, half spirit, mindless monsters and living weapons, primarily for fighting Contagion and mages.
> 
> Contagion- Force of parasitic demons, who possess and absorb other creatures. Liminals primarily fight them.
> 
> Spiritual pollution-concept found in many religions. I call it here sometimes miasma, from Greek, but thinking of using kegare, Japanese word for same concept ( slave is of Japanese descent, but was removed from community early on, so not sure how much he remembers, also not sure how many would understand). Spiritual pollution isn't evil, but natural product of negative emotions and contact with death, illness and such. So not a sin, and natural reaction, but if too much of it is there it can be bad for people, and it must be kept away from shrines and sacred spaces.
> 
> Annual purifying ceremony- Reference to ceremony meant to get rid of kegare, from japan, traditionally held in summer. In this world nobles instruct priests/mages to add spells to prevent purification of cells, torture dungeons and poor graveyards.
> 
> Forked staff- Reference to stang, a tool in tradition of British and American traditional witchcraft. Robert Cochrane introduced it, but some claim it has roots in folklore. Used as wand, to direct energy, and for soul-flight ( aka astral projection, basically).
> 
> Blasting rod- A wand used to control spirits, especially unruly ones, and casting dangerous curses, ''blasting'' victim with sickness, crop failure and such.
> 
> Blackthorn- In American and English lore, tree associated with witches (especially ones in league with Devil), curses and death. Evil witches who summoned demons, caused storms, destroyed lives of neighbors, ate children and all such fun things were said to carry canes and sticks made out of blackthorn.


	2. Frail Hopes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How slave met the emperor, observations at village and quiet, almost romantic time with master.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! So here is second chapter, continuing format of flashback as child- adventure at witch village-sexy times with emperor. Some softcore erotica now.

The children were dying.

No wonder. Wind was cold but dry, and harsh asphalt of town square they were chained to was outdoors, and covered and filth. They slept in muck, and breathed polluted air, and dust and rags were all that covered them. Poor children, taken away from their mother (or mothers, who would know), barely survived branding and chip insertion. They were left to tender cares of their fellow slaves, who did all they could to help babies. They barely felt like people, like mortals then, but as hive, driven by fear and rage and altruism, their will like tide, rushing faster then thought should go, instinct to help and to shelter young ingrained in their very bones, jumping at sight.

Not him, of course. He was aberration, abomination, accursed creature.  He was mage and curse maker and demon caller, and he was Liminal, halfbreed, hybrid. He was monster, the necessary evil, the thing that went bump in night. He was nightmare, the horror you warned children about, the weapon that shattered body and soul both. Fact that he was even allowed near normal people was both colossal favor to him and magnificent doom upon all others.

So he held himself as far away as chain would allow, and kept face stoic even as they thought him heartless and inhuman, even as pure hysteria and wholesome fright invaded him, as pure, undeveloped instincts slammed in him, as overseers laughed and cracked whip. Still, each cry rocked him, and he saw everything from eyes of children, their tiny, undeveloped minds ripping him apart with intensity only ancient veterans could match, fear filling them up whole.

Two days, bit more, that is how long they lasted. The Liminal slave felt their life coming to end, three candlelights flickering out of existence. Everybody could see their skin turn pale, hear their cries fall silent, their hands weakly twitch, but he was a mage, born to listen to life and death, and he could feel their flesh grow cold, see vital energy slip out, sense their mind fall weak and dark.

Children were laying in middle of square, helplessly crying, begging, because customers didn’t like seeing slaves doing anything but waiting for orders ( _didn’t like seeing them free, human, emotional_ ), and so slaves were beaten back with stick and whip and taser, kneeling chained at corners, while children cried, while babies were dying. Something in them called out, though even they weren’t aware of that, not fully, begging for love and care and family.

He crawled. Chain was long, well long enough. It may get tense, it may tug, it may choke him, but it was long enough. His skin may be chafed, red and torn later, but it didn’t matter. He got closer to children, even as fear of dozen fellow slaves gripped him from inside, bone chilling fright that made them unable to move, as they watched monster from all stories mothers told children to get them to behave advance towards babies, watched all warnings each child got before bedtime play out.

_No no..._

_What is happening..._

_How can they allow that..._

_Somebody help..._

_We can’t, we are slaves if we disobey they will ..._

_How can anybody allow this..._

_Those are babies you motherfuckers..._

_How dare you bastards..._

_I will smash it’s skull..._

_It will eat them up, drink their blood, devour their souls..._

Nothing unfamiliar. Panic tried to hold him back, rage tried to suffocate him, hatred tried to tear him apart but it didn’t matter, not when children’s minds were getting slower and slower, and he crawled faster, more desperate, even though his fellow slaves were rioting, even though chain was tugging at him, twisting his limbs, until he made it, until he got close put hands around them, his long hair hiding children from view of others, neck dangling barely a bit above, and he...

Sang.

It was slow, weak, nearly silent. It wasn’t even passable, to be honest. His voice cracked and rasped, not in use for almost a year, sounding as if it was full of dust and chalk. Syllables dangled torn, consonants clumsily fell out of his mouth, with big lulls of  choking silence in between, as if something (words, these unfamiliar words they said was only true language, not words he drank with milk as he was breastfed) got stuck inside his throat.

And yet, everybody was rendered silent. It seemed that world stopped, paralyzed by half remembered lullaby he was singing, translating in First Language,  their minds rendered static and almost wholly quiet, cold shock overtaking them, thoughts stopped as if they had been sunk under heavy velvet and cold water. Confusion hung in air like mist, like cloud of pollen, and it seemed as if everybody was shaking, on edge of falling, of melting, scene in front of them crashing and shattering their precocious visage of reality.

They weren’t crying. They were silent, almost content, as end was coming near. He wasn’t much of mage, he didn’t have much in aether reserves, nor did he posses formal education,  or particular talent and ability, but this much he could do.  Anybody with inkling of spiritual sense could do so much,  imbue their words, their deeds with strength almost beyond what should be possible. Faster, stronger, more durable, quality enhanced and refined, purer and more effective.

They fell asleep before they died.

And then spell broke. there was a fury, a noise, screams and accusations, until he had no idea anymore what was thought and what was sound, for it seemed that whole city had rioted against him, that each man and child and slave had rose to scream at him, that very buildings tore themselves out of foundations to pound him unto earth. And as his fellow slaves cried, as overseers came closer with whips and foam at mouth, he gathered children in his bony, bruised arms and held them as much as he could, repeating over and over same word, in broken, ugly dialect of slaves.

‘’Release. Release. Release.’’ Because no matter who and what, from where and when they come, which  gloom fate befalls them, their death chant is same, always the same, and other slaves almost join him, as shaken as they are, by sight of Liminal holding baby’s corpse, crying a human’s chant. And he went on, chanting as souls of children rose and flew, as guards and overseers took hold of him, their meaty hands crunching his bones, their anger bristling, dragging across his skin like stubble hairs. They spat on him, laughed at him, and world melted under assault of emotions and opinions of all people near, drilling themselves in his head, until he wanted to clutch it and cry, just cry forever, let his tears spill across asphalt and flood the city.

But he couldn’t allow them such satisfaction.

They dragged him roughly, by hair and chain, for he wasn’t boy of eleven, for he wasn’t human, for he wasn’t living creature. He was a slave, a mage, a Liminal, and he was toy of flesh and bone for anybody to use, as long as they paid taxes. Nobody protested, and many were glad when he was tied, his back bared, and whip longer then his stunted body hit him, again and again, and oh it burned, worse then pyre, yet he remained silent.

Whip was thick, black and longer then him. It slashed at his skin, intense and sharp, seeming to piece to bones, to smash his spine. It would be soon that it would break the skin, and blood would pour out, red like wine, and they would go on, while public gathered, jeered and mocked, fascinated by gruesome sight. Vultures, all of them, but they wouldn’t kill him- that would mean destroying property of state, and Liminals were limited resource, and everybody knew what happened when Liminal broke, especially defective one-  and nobody wanted to see several city blocks explode.

They laughed. He heard them, heard hundred, thousand laughs, ever=growing legion, old and young, silvery and raspy, quiet and roaring, but they laughed. Laughed as his skin was torn, as blood flowed on stone below, as he could already see scars that would remain, thick, bulging lines of flesh, rising like mounds from his skin, a net of disfigurement and shame, that would one day overtake whole skin.

They were nervous. he could feel it, tension bristling underneath, confusion and lust for pain like sirens, booming, angry and afraid, because he wasn’t screaming, because he wasn’t begging. but they wanted Liminal, so Liminal they got, a monster silent and unmoving, void of feeling and desire, bearing through everything, calm and blank, waiting for chance to rip apart bodies and souls.

He focuses on whip. That is way how he buries the pain, how he buries screams, how he buries grimaces. He feels it on his flesh, and so he reaches out and knows it. It is job of mage, after all, to listen and learn. So he learns of shapes and callouses of hands that held it, learns of wounds it left on other backs,  learns of factory at which it was made, learns of machines that dyed it, learns of origin of materials from which it was made. He loses himself for moments, becomes a nail, a shoulder, a clog, the plastic, the field. Information courses and pumps through his brain, and it has no time to let out scream, to react, to acknowledge anything else. He wouldn’t cry, he won’t faint. He will last.

And then, astonishment blinds him, like dawn breaking through centuries of night.

_No way..._

_Oh gods..._

_Here?_

_Of all times..._

_We aren’t ready..._

_No we will shame our family..._

_We can’t show him this..._

_How could we allow this..._

_What will he think..._

_He will say we can’t even control our slaves, our Liminals..._

_In capitol of all places..._

_Why now?_

And one thought rose above all others, bringing them all on knees, weighting them down with tide of devotion and  fervor, of shame and adoration more beautiful and purer then moon, than untainted lake, than diamonds. It radiated from each mind, each heart, filled with softness and warmth, with bliss unmatched by anything on Earth. It seemed as if every bone, every drop of blood was crying out from joy, as if each cell was singing in gratitude, as if they were all filled with light and melody. And all those feelings took shape of a single word.

_Emperor!_

Slave’s eyes widened and his lip trembled as he shared same feeling as everybody, and this time it truly came from him, this time he wasn’t just eavesdropping at other’s hearts. he finally understood it, the fear that came across men when they saw him, when they realized tales of their childhood were right- oh, they knew they were, but in distant, foreign way, same as they knew about deserts and icy wastes, but never seeing, knowing either. But as with all, among trepidation he felt elation and strange, humble joy.

The Emperor was eleven, but he seemed so much more. He was taller then slave, and better built      ( _miracles of three meals a day_ , Liminal would bitterly joke one day, and confused ruler would say _it is three feats and two snacks_ ). His skin seemed similar to slave’s, as did shape of their eyes, but  it was fair, not ugly and darkly tanned as did slave’s  (for he never worked in fields or streets), and it lacked unhealthy, pale undertone. His cheeks weren’t sunken, nor were there bags and dark circles around his eyes. He was cute, and held budding signs of being handsome man, as was fitting for emperor. He reminded slaves of those beautiful, seemingly unreal people in commercials, of heroes and princes from tales people secretly told children. And his clothes! Such quality, all silk and leather, gold and gems. He couldn’t believe, he felt ashamed he couldn’t kneel.

Emperor was sitting on throne on small platform, surrounded by menacing guards, their faces hidden beneath plastic and metal, and they glower with pride and giddiness and love, such love that they would give their lives and families for this boy, their blessed, ordained Emperor. The Golden Crown, Lord of West, best beloved of Star Kings, the Golden Emperor, he who is born again and again, carrying wisdom of enlightened dead with them.

Slave wonders, whether he remembers his previous lives.

‘’Why are you whipping that slave?’’ Asks the Emperor, and his voice flashes through crowd, through numerous, awe-struck prayers and compliments thrown at him. Slave’s own surprise hits him first, and then follows surprise of others, thousands of sledgehammers striking at skull.

‘’It isn’t true slave, Your  Radiant Grace. Its is  **Liminal**. The defective one.’’ Says the overseer, words barely falling out, surprise and trepidation gripping him, disgust swelling, ready to burst. Slave feels as if he drunk buckets of phlegma.

‘’Oh? How did it malfunction?’’ The interest is as casual and natural as cheek laying on Emperor’s hand. Slave feels himself blushing, hearing this ancient, great legend ask after, about him. He wants to hide his face behind matted hair, to keep quiet, to sing hymns, to kneel, to bow.

‘’It was...it was singing, Your Radiant Grace.’’ Says the man, and words dig in his throat like a thorns. Tears pour out, poor man, to be caught near a criminal, near a monster. Art is tool of demons, of Contagion, of Old People, forbidden because it twists minds and corrupts ancient morals, and here is mindless monster, necessary evil trying to imitate it.

‘’Really?’’ And there is astonishment, a disbelief, and subtle disgust, like veil being ripped, and slave feels shame, knows he is stupid but those babies were crying, and he concentrates instead on Emperor’s voice, not yet going through puberty, clear and beautiful and so warm. With hand he motions to overseer to continue.

‘’Yes, Your Radiant Grace. Even though it knew it was forbidden. It sang lullaby to dying slave’s children.’’ Words pour out, and man shakes, afraid, for Liminals like him can only imitate, and cannot disobey, meaning somebody had to teach him, and he must assure Emperor it wasn’t him, or his underlings.

Something twists inside him, a shame and mockery of compassion. Slave’s children, not baby slaves. less grievous, and makes them sound as if they were people, as if they were free, because even overseer cannot stand sight of newborn corpses, and he thinks this kindness, that it is enough to make him blameless for their death.

Slave would have preferred to be called otherwise, better remembered as slave then this useless mercy, but it isn’t his place to judge. Slavery is after all step up on social ladder for likes of him.

‘’Interesting. Bring it to my palace! Liminal, of all things, singing! I must see what more it can do.’’ And like a storm, like a plague, shock passes through crowd. Slave thinks he will drown in envy, and he would have smiled at that, for isn’t this fairy tale, a dream of all? Better slave in palace then streets, after all.

‘’Of ... Of course! Your Radiant Grace!’’ Overseer almost screams, and isn’t it delicious thought, that nourishes him even as he is dragged away, to place of gold and marble, beautiful beyond telling, where nothing is dirty or cold, save for him.

‘’Have somebody look up damage.’’ Orders the Emperor, softly, and slave’s eyes are as wide as plates, and he almost giggles, dreaming of visiting doctor, of being repaired, of being little bit prettier.

* * *

 

The witch elders, currently incorporeal slave decided, would have been rather interesting people to know if they weren’t so horribly annoying.

First, they were good at keeping down their stress. Oh, they frowned and scowled, and kept sniping at each other, but true worry and fright was hidden deep inside. They wouldn’t allow their mask to sleep, for sake of their communities, human interrogation and each other. That was recommendable quality, but given that only thing slave had going for himself magically was greater sensitivity to currents of nature, aether and mind, it meant that he was exposed to brimming cocktail of panic, observations and subconscious fears, which fought for excuse to break through, as it is when somebody buries their feelings.

There was also apparently some fondness and exasperation there, something strange and deep existing between two. A forbidden love, secret friendship, bond forged from flame when they were young and standing against the world alone? Slave was drawn to such stories, like moth to light, for it was said defective Liminals like him drew their behaviour and form from such stories, and whether true or not he did enjoy learning such information. But in current moment it only complicated their thought process further.

Third was that they were both obviously accomplished mages. He could feel it, the power they contained, hidden but there, strong and unyielding, like walls of high-security dungeon, like heat of spring Sun in field. At least two  ranks above him, quite possibly three. Such power and such age came with skill and knowledge- he could hear them, thinking of spells and techniques, of amulets they had on themselves, of which wood was best for which working. Admirable, but not when you were mage hunter trying to stealthily follow them. He withdrew his aura until he was barely more then wisp, trying to pass himself off as forest spirit.

Fourth was that they were pretty familiar with their woods. That was good for several reasons. First was that being good at getting around your home was always great thing, second that forests were rare nowdays and knowing their nooks and crannies was nice and hard even for somebody who lived there, and finally mage should always have connection with place they inhabited. But again, was very bad for Liminal who was foreigner and should somehow sneak up on them while pretending to be native spirit.

And at very last, they walked surprisingly fast for people of their advanced age. Good for them, not for over-stressed slave who hoped at least to enjoy chance for some sight seeing and meditation in woods. Petty, but still he needed to complain about something to remain sane.

As they came near village, or at least what he thought was near, he sped up, flying near border of wood, and reached inside himself, inside his soul and essence, pulling and twisting and stretching until he had body again. It took a second, and in moment he fell down to earth. Transformation felt as if he lost all senses he had and some he didn’t know about, as if he was buried under mountains, as he felt his energy evaporate to 60%, at very best. That was danger of being Drone mage and rushing for you, right there- don’t think long enough, don’t meditate and concentrate and bum, lose thrice as much as you should.

His bones ached and groaned as he ventured out of woods, regaining stoic stance before he came to guards. The border guard, a man with dyed blue hair (his father protested against it, he knew, he picked up from his mind) took step back, spike of panic rising as slave approached. Investigator who came with him rolled his eyes, but slave knew, felt tension, wish to lay hand against gun that he held (just as he knew that investigator’s little sister was killed by a bear in forest similar to this one).

‘’Two witches are coming soon. Elderly, tall man and short woman.’’ He said, and oh how they shuddered at sound of his voice, how their faces grimaced, and he was sure somebody would vomit soon.

_‘_ ’That are representatives? What are they like?’’ Asked investigator, with crooked smirk. _Easy work, we can go home soon_ _,_ he thought- for they were old, and therefore weak and of failing mind, and could be tricked in incriminating themselves easily, right?

‘’Yes, the witch elders, Old Ben and Grizzly- umm, Benjamin Smith and Griselda Brown. Spiteful bores, but no danger.’’ Answered the young man, spitting, mouth curling and eyebrows going down, distaste swelling such that slave almost lurched at him. He knew, had twenty years of experience in feeling foreign emotions, to know this hatred wasn’t personal, wasn’t based on anything but prejudice, a slimy, awful thing that smelled like burning pitch, passed on through generations and villages.

‘’I’ll judge that.’’ Said the investigator, and border guard put down his head, shame coursing through him, as that same irrational hatred glared towards man, for they were same caste but it wasn’t same region, it was village, people here were poor... Truly men looked for any excuse to hate each other.

‘’So there you are. Took you long enough. Liminal’s analysis yielded you would come soon-must be malfunctioning.’’ Behind him, Old Ben and Griselda stopped, fear paralyzing them for few seconds, before wariness and contingency plans arose, for circle of protection and witch bottle wouldn’t be enough here.

Griselda squinted as she passed at him, and thought demon spawn, how did it get serious enough for this, and of blood-stained altar littered with bones of children, and of cursed charms littering woods, not knowing each had been burned unto ash.

They went away, to discuss ( to make witches beg), and left him there, to stand, to watch people spit after two mages, watch them scowl and make signs against evil eye, to watch merchant’s wife hide remaining children behind her apron.

* * *

 

He woke up on the floor.

It wasn’t comfortable, of course. Marble was there to be stunning and impress poor, but at least it was clean  and more comfortable than streets-no pebbles, which was great mercy as some couldn’t afford so much. And it was pretty floor, he had to admit.

The emperor was gone. Somewhere halfway through night, slave took pity on him and dressed boy, because he may have been thought lower then animal and barely above Contagion itself but he had been taught some manners. He woke up few minutes before emperor, stirred from dreams by ending sleep of one who laid down on bed.  He was greeted with hum and always up first, so hard-working, and blush and squeal, humiliation and excitement at sight of photos.

He helped emperor change in new clothes, and then when annoying man was off at ‘’work’’ he was left alone in his private chambers, something any history record, anybody with common sense and very stones told him has never happened before, at least in this palace. So when he was left alone, in great brilliant suit of marble and mirrors, he jumped at work, inventing things to busy himself with. He checked lights and wires, cleaned mirrors and floors, organized kitchen implements and wardrobe, made bed and ofudas, checked his magical laboratory and went through emperor’s correspondences. It took up bigger part of day- dreadfully boring, to do it alone, but at least it was silent.

‘’Finally!’’ Loud, warm voice echoed, and in mirrors slave saw emperor approaching, giving him enough time to cast away his current occupation and turn to catch man in his arms when emperor jumped to greet him,  going flush and hot at touch of slave’s lowly, commoner hands, already tingling.

‘’Needy today, are we?’’ Emperor was needy with everything, always, but this was bit overboard even for him. Not much but still.

‘’Boring day. Been reviewing stuff, all the same. You?’’ Emperor replied, burying his face in slave’s neck, not daring kiss or lick it without permission, though he ached oh so much for that. Short memory passed through his head, of his work today, and slave glanced at it and found nothing of interest. Just boring reports of noblemen and merchants desperate to gain approval, lying all.

‘’Cleaning, check ups, washed clothes. Fates forbid you ever have to do that.’’  _What a jokester_ _, emperor t_ hought and giggled, as scandalized laughter left his mouth, as if somebody was tickling him from inside. If that ever happened, slave thought, the palace would be gone and emperor would jump on him in public.

‘’Mhhhm. What were you doing just now?’’ Emperor asked, seemingly melting in slave, rubbing his dark hair over slave’s shoulder, gesturing to bundle slave threw away.

‘’Sewing. If I hadn’t been fast enough you could have landed on a needle.’’ Wouldn’t be first time slave skewered somebody with sewing implements, but first time he’d do it accidentally for sure. Not to mention that he was sewing in protective and concealing spells, and unfinished spells had bad habit of activating as explosions.

‘’Oh.’’ I hadn’t realized you need new ones, and slave kept his smile even as both of them glanced at dirty, torn rags he wore. Because why would a slave need anything else?

‘’I could give you some, you know.’’ And slave stopped for second, surprise digging in, something fluttering in his chest, edges of his eyes hazy. There were legends of that, of people whose life was changed because emperor gave them one trinket, and he had seen first hand how beautiful were clothes emperor had access to, even if they were made for commoners, how durable they were, made in great factories at thousands, and there was no need for him to snatch free time, hoping nobody would notice him, to stab himself with needles...

‘’No need for that, but you are far too kind, Your Radiant Grace. Such nice things aren’t fit for something like me. Besides, I like sewing.’’ It helped him keep focus, and was fun, in a way, even if he never got anything other but dull brown fabric to work with.

‘’Nonsense.  Don’t be all humble, beautiful men need to wear beautiful clothing! See!’’ And before slave could react, emperor threw him on bed, and wrestled his way on a top, tearing apart rags. Slave could have easily threw him off, but he would have hurt him then, and that would have been death sentence.

Emperor tore at his clothes, way all others did, all people who didn’t know he was a Liminal, way every rich and strong man and woman did, because that was what he was, he was slave, he was lower then animal, he was son of whore he was just a toy, hands grabbing, tearing, forever, since he was child in brothel filth...

‘’There! See! You are too beautiful for such rags!’’ Slave watched himself in mirrors, in hundred reflections. Body that had grown too tall too fast, limbs long and gangly. Skin darkened from life spent open in Sun, ugly brownish shade nobles sneered on, but with grey undertone. Subtle muscles, stringy and unseemly, forced to develop after lifetime of fighting, on starved frame, ribs visible. Gaunt features, sunken, feminine face with eyes too big and wide and cold, and gray as asphalt (looking wrongly, as if they weren’t human). Crooked teeth, yellow, ears bit too sharp, hair partially shaved, falling below uneven shoulder blades, dirty, black, rough and unkempt, and all hair over his body like a wet fur. Scars, scars and bruises all over, as if he was splattered in old wine stains, and his back hundreds of pale lines, mounds rising from flesh, stitchings left and right.

‘’You are so hot.’’ Emperor says, emperor with his flawless face, emperor with his clean fair skin and rosy lips, emperor with toned chest and abdomen and slender waist, emperor with his perfect proportions, and he means it. For him it is a simple fact, something as true and real as Sun and stars. There are beautiful noblemen, and there are prettiest concubines in world, and statues of gods, and sunrise, and there is Slave Number 3768091 above them all.

It leaves slave confused, how to feel about thing growing inside him when he receives compliments.

‘’You are far too kind, Your Radiant Grace.’’ He whispers again, and advances forward, as emperor ignores whispers in his mind, ignores subconscious warning, ignores fear and disgust swelling inside him, as his body and soul recognize Liminal.

‘’Just Rice Grain.’’ Says the boy, the brat, the slave’s pet, for emperor’s true name is forbidden for lowly people to speak, and Liminals have none, so they came up with nicknames.

‘’Want to play a little?’’ Slave asks, though he doesn’t need to, and expectation and lust and it is sin fill him, more intoxicating then hardest liquor, and he spreads his legs, and his lips quirk when he  feels Rice gets dizzy and gasping, drooling at sight of slave’s cock.

‘’Here. You can sit down. Won’t do too much tonight, we are both too tired.’’ he took Rice and placed him on his leg, so that boy’s back leaned in slave, so that slave lowered his head to boy’s neck.

‘’But...’’ Argument was stuck inside, because Rice wanted more, he wanted to pull his lips over that giant, delicious dick and gobble it down, he wanted to be fucked in mattress until he couldn’t stand, he wanted to cum finally.

‘’No buts. Just bit of touching. Unless you want punishment.’’ Slave purred, hot breath scalding sensitive neck, and need and fear rose in Rice, as slave put his rough, dry lips on that perfumed, oiled skin.

‘’Ahhh...Nothing more? Pretty please?’’ Rice asked, clenching his legs around slave’s thigh. He was still in his clothes, dark tight leather and pastel mauve silk shirt, fanning out, airy and baggy. Slave smiled, reminded of one of most popular tactics of visitors of red light districts- customer clothed, in outfit worth more then decades of whore’s salary, and prostitutes themselves stripped bare.

‘’You can hump me a bit, if you are so desperate. No unclothing and you will be allowed to keep pretending you are a man, though only a delusional would believe it.’’ Slave answered, nibbling on a ear, sending shivers of pleasure through boy, tapping his crotch, where sad excuse for cock was buried under several bundles of fabric.

‘’Thank you. Thank you so much, you are so kind...’’ Slave’s magic, placed months ago, made it impossible for boy to get off, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try, humping strong, scarred leg as if his life depended on it, leather screeching as it dragged across skin and hair.

‘’Well, I should have learned by now, but you never stop surprising me with how wanton you are.’’ _Aha aaah uammmm yes_ _a_ nd boy jumped, rising and falling as if dancing, up and down, trying to please himself, rocking back to chest.

‘’It is truly a talent, how you can debase yourself so thoroughly. If it wasn’t for me you’d be behaving like a bitch in heat all time.’’ Slave smiled wide at hot pleasure that overcame him, fire racing through veins, pressure building up as he wrapped his arms around Rice, holding his torso, grabbing his fat, nicely shaped ass-some virtues you couldn’t ignore.

‘’..mhmmm aahhh!’’ Boy’s vision was shaking, and his whole body was tingling, pleasure sour and sweet, lust overwhelming like twisted smoke obscuring everything else. And yet below it all, there was single question, a wish he couldn’t voice.

‘’Stories? Now? Well, why not, let it be so.’’ Boy on his lap could get horny over anything, and anything could be transformed in stimulant when faced with it. But there were some things he liked even more, which he would have asked for even if he was burning in Hell.

_‘’_ Once, many and many years ago, before first brick of this palace was laid down, and I  wasn’t even a twinkle in eye, and you walked world under different face and form, there was an old woman. Once, she had been young, of course, but it passed too quickly for her liking.’’ Slave thought his voice was awful, raspy and screechy thing that sounded as if some small and slimy thing was dying, but Rice behaved as if it was song of paradise.

‘’She was bitter, and angry, for she had lived a boring life, ordinary life, as peasant and farmer and mother. But she wanted so much more- she wanted to be feared by each soul in world, and to hoard mountains of gems, and to live and be remembered forever. But she was of Dirt, like me, and that couldn’t be allowed by declarations of people who dared call their blood purer and wiser.’’ He spoke into Rice’s ear, slowly, silently, biting tip of earlobe, scratching them with his too sharp teeth, and boy cried out, long, drawn out moan as words of story dug in his mind. Not that he would understand the point, after all, because commoners were commoners and that was all that was there.

‘’Such was her rage, and such was her drive, that she called forth a demon of Contagion to herself.’’ And here did Rice gasp, and for moment fear and loathing came over him, as did memory, of  slave surrounded by unearthly light, all traces of humanity wiped away, each movement making his head hurt, moving through world like oil on water, eyes full of stars.

‘’Now, you humans cannot see demons and spirits, but in dreams anything is powerful. So demon spoke to her, and told her how it could make her young again, and stronger then ever before, if she would prove her worth to him. And without moment of hesitation or consideration, she accepted.’’ Rice ached with need, with want, begging and crying in his mind, as he tried to satisfy his lust with friction of humping, so slave took pity on him and sneaked arms under silken shirt.

‘’ When there came a time of great festival in village, at end of year, she volunteered to help prepare meals, and was allowed to do so, for they knew nothing of her plans, nor of things she did before.’’ He trailed over flawless skin with his calloused, harsh palms, tracing over and over as Rice tensed, melted under them, as they went up, and still listened.

‘’So she poisoned water supply, and all food she had help in preparing, and when last soul in village died, she set it on fire, and when fire died down, started chewing corpses. And first corpse she ate was that of her own infant granddaughter.’’ He found nipples, harsh and erect and red, and rings that pierced them, small and golden and warm from aroused skin, an unusual way they fixed problem of emperor’s inverted nipples.

‘’So Contagion came to her, impressed, and fulfilled it’s promise. It came unto her, and took hold of her body, and it made her in a wraith, albeit one that could think and choose for herself- as long as she remained loyal to Contagion’s cause.’’ He tugged on them, tiny golden ring on nipples about as big as Rice Grain’s cock ( that  nickname was chosen for more reasons than fact emperor’s father had giant rice fields as part of his estate), gently pulling forward, and boy’s back arched and bent, and he cried out.

‘’It gave her power to feast on flesh, and remain young by consuming hearts, and steal souls and knowledge and powers of her victims. And so she chose to hunt children, for they were easy prey and full of potential and strength yet unspent.’’ Silk bent over his arms, caressing his burned, scarred skin, and Rice bared his throat to slave, nuzzled their cheeks together, as slave dragged tips of his teeth across it.

‘’She was named Grey Mother, for her habit of abducting and eating children, and because Contagion left her hair grey, as warning that it could take away her power as easily as it gave it. And so she became first and eldest of Sisters of Rot, who beguiled and spread Contagion for ages. But that is just a start of story.’’ Saliva dripped down, boy drooling as he turned to slave, who released his hold on piercings to return the hug, black hair streaked with purple brushing across his face.

‘’You always tell best stories.’’ And there is truth there, honest admiration and gratitude, and if he was younger he would have blushed.  Truth was, his stories were rather simple and little flat, but emperor liked them. Only thing slave had going for himself as storyteller was amount of lore and legends he picked up on his travels. Slave rubbed emperor’s hair, softly and with great fondness.

‘’But why aren’t you hard?’’ He asked, glancing at slave’s thick, long cock with reverence and wariness, blush going over his cheeks, hand falling down over his own crotch, trace of disbelief and awe present in his mind, like first time he saw magic done.

‘’Some of us don’t make boys  starting puberty assure themselves ‘’Well, at least my stamina isn’t **that** awful.’’ Just like some of us aren’t incorrigible perverts.’’ Not a lie, though it owed a lot to childhood spent in brothel and self control you learnt as super soldier. Rice looked down, averting gaze from slave’s inscrutable eyes. Shame was delicious, like warm chocolate.

‘’Plus I’m tired.’’  He added, bit of pity crawling inside. For moment he thought about giving brat what he wanted, as he had been well behaved and just in his decisions (well, as just as possible for man like that), but then he decided to edge him a bit more.

‘’... Evening?’’ Boy asked him, voice quiet and hesitant, so sweet that man he spoke to almost stopped noticing tight collar around his neck.

‘’Yes, Rice Grain, of course.’’ He answered, at same moment  Can I watch you work went through boy’s mind, and both giggled as Evening picked up needles and cloth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope you liked it, if yes please leave comment. Write what you'd like to see happen to emperor, or what you'd like to see of world.
> 
> Witch bottle- from English and American folklore, first appearing in 17th century. A charm meant to protect against witches, curses and evil spirits, bottle filled with victim's hair, blood, urine (yeah, ugh), herbs, needles and such. Bottle would work as long it was hidden or buried. Today modern witches, pagans and believers in occult sue them for various purposes.
> 
> Circle- Drawn in ground, marked by salt, or some other way, generally believed to be part of magic spell or ritual that creates spiritual barrier against curses, malicious spirits and magical attacks.


	3. In enchanted circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So-called happy times with emperor, and talk with mage in woods in too familiar situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! New chapter up! Kinda changed how things go so you get sexy times in witch part. Will contain semi-accidental non-consensual voyeurism, also mentions of slavery and child grooming and all that stuff. This is very dark and sick at times, remember. Thanks for reading, please comment!  
> Hopefully, one day, slave will murder emperor...

Slave Number 3768091 was made of magic.

That, to be honest, wasn’t wholly true. Especially if you held to opinion that magic wasn’t a force, but a process that utilised supernatural power to accomplish supposedly impossible things (slave himself didn’t hold to any particular opinion, as result of having no formal training in basic mystical arts, much less philosophical debates on origin and nature of magecraft, and all his knowledge came from scraps of torn spell books stolen from trash). Still, slave held that, as somebody who was result of intercourse between mage and spirit (and he wasn’t certain he wanted to know how that happened), and therefore he certainly shouldn’t exist, not just because of theological, moral but also logical reasons (attempts to analyse DNK of Liminals regularly confounded, irritated and in certain cases drove poor scientists assigned to said research completely mad, as in sort of madness that left you with melted eyeballs, inability to speak other then barking and led to drawing eldritch symbols on walls of your room with your own blood, which was top reason maids hated him). Still, slave thought that phrase was pretty and in metaphorical sense, true.

Anyway, point was that what most people would have called incredible or horrifying was norm for him. He had seen dead and demons his whole life. In shrines and temples he heard voices whispering to praying masses. He had seen path lined with balls of blue flame, the woman who had died ages ago counting plates, woman with curtain of matted hair seducing oni and tengu. He had seen kappa playing in streams and rivers, foxes with many tails plotting mischief,  giant skeletons arise from mass graves of poor.

And he thought that something like Imperial Palace couldn’t exist outside of fairy tales.

It seemed as if there was no end to how tall or wide it was, the gleaming, perfect structure made out of marble and gold and diamonds. Style and function were conjoined in it, the battlements both absolute defence as well as great works of art. The greatest, latest technology ran through it, opening doors and shifting floors, and most ancient, complicated magic defended it, such that army of demons couldn’t assault it. Electricity and aether ran through it in amounts that his bones seemed to shake from moment he stepped inside. There were windows thrice bigger then any person he saw, and floors were so clear that he could clearly see his reflection in them, laboratories as big as city blocks, entire zoos inside! There were floors dedicated to certain activities, libraries on single topic. There were more people living there then in most cities he passed through,  hierarchies and protocols more complicated then anything he saw.

‘’Somebody get rid  of that wicked thing! If I see a hair of it, I’ll have you all boiled alive!’’ _If concubines see him, they will start fuss and I won’t be able to handle it without strangling somebody_ , though thin, tall woman with garish eye-shadow, loathing rolling off her in cold, concentrated waves, directed at him, born out of childhood tales about Liminals and their nature as necessary evil, and at concubines, born out of decades of work with them, and ingrained prejudice at women who got their wealth by ways of their body-and envy she too couldn’t lay with emperor like that.

 _At least it’s trained well_ , thought maid that directed cleaning droid towards him when he scurried away, because Liminal could only copy people, not live and choose on their own . And they certainly couldn’t learn at their own all pathways slaves like him were allowed to use, nor could they memorize servant schedules so they would avoid endless mobs and crowds of people always going through palace, always busy with something, always overthinking (silent people thought the most, he realized).  There were halls unused for decades, corridors that nobody but maids spent time in.

In times like these, those were his favourites. Prospective concubines for emperor’s harem were being brought forth, to be tested and graded, which meant considerable amount of stress and plotting and commentary and bitterness. First would come astonishment, enthrallment and adoration, because even lowest ranked concubines were always as beautiful as nymphs and demigoddesses, at least according to rumours and myths prostitutes from his home brothel repeated over and over, hopelessly dreaming of that honour. Then there would be bets and guesses, criticisms and jokes, disappointment  and pride, sorrow and relief as process went on and  candidates were eliminated. And above all came intrigue and betrayals, deadly games and plots that ruined whole families, wicked thoughts and disgusting ideas hidden under sweet smiles, as blood and honour were spilled, lives and reputations ruined, until most savvy, most cunning and ruthless girl won, and then she would have to defend her position constantly, from gossip of courtiers, from upstarts, from disgraced rivals looking for revenge...

He would hide away from it all. Nobody would listen to his words, his warnings, nor would they care if defective Liminal wasn’t present, and he had no intention of bothering with overload of useless, horrible information, no intention of knowing crimes that would never be remarked upon, of casting any judgement upon any girl. Such process in the end would have no real effect on him- just several more stuck up rich ladies who would be disgusted and insulted if he crossed their path. They’d probably hate him even more, once they saw he came from ranks of lowly peasant prostitutes, for they wanted no association with such rough, uncultured fools, who were talentless and ugly failures compared to imperial concubines.

He just hoped that they weren’t little girls, and that consummation would be put on hold until emperor was off age.

Finally, finally he came to library. It was one of older ones, ones that were old thousands of years ago, ones that still had wooden doors, ones in which people put books they couldn’t burn but couldn’t let remain in usual libraries. There were several ones, and this one stored poetry.

In palace, where he was often brought to because emperor and his close friends enjoyed seeing all things strange, unique and _exotic_ ( he supposed it was meant as compliment, or at least flattering description, because he was sure way his skin shivered and stomach boiled  when that word was uttered was his own, completely) and there were few things more unique and weird then Liminal that malfunctioned, and managed to imitate humans  with such quality, who could even attempt to perform art- such that he was given special permission for that by emperor, whereas otherwise he could have been executed-rendered defunct, as it was said.

He learnt many things in palace, especially when it came to nature of art. He learnt that art was specific skill, cultivated by branches of Productive caste, controlled by White Empress of East. Their job and purpose was to record and display life and people around them, either for sake of future generations, or glory of noble patrons. Other castes, especially of lowest, Dirty caste, simply weren’t equipped with means and abilities to manage that, and so were forbidden from attempting to create their cheap, laughable copies, because that was insult to actual,  natural artists.

And there were dangerous, corrupted dissenters, heralds of Contagion. Foolish people who believed they could create things beautiful and important, that weren’t real, that defied norms of society. Those very evil, warped works, meant to spread poison in minds, to bring plague upon hearts of people, to threaten peace of Empire, to spit on traditions, to introduce evil ideas in minds of humanity. Their works were only fit for pyre and oblivion (those were, slave noted, those people who dared speak out against nobles).

In this library were stored texts that danced on line of crime and art, poetry that caught ire of some noble but couldn’t convincingly be named as criminal slander, likely because of how ancient and important it was- people stopped writing in books ages ago, and if it was acceptable then it had to be acceptable now too, right? So they just hid them in less popular areas.

He jumped on table, and from table on high shells, made from ancient oaks, and he could almost smell sweat of woodsmen that cut them down. Swiftly and with great skill, he climbed up, searching for a book he started reading last time. If he fell, it would be long and fatal fall, especially as he was of rather tiny and wiry body, but that was what allowed him to climb so far without old shelves collapsing underneath his feet. Once he got what he was searching for, he scrambled down fast and sat at one of tables, flipping through ancient pages, words faded almost to grey on dry, yellowed paper, covers thick and once probably olive. Poems inside weren’t the best,  but they were nice enough-they all talked about nostalgia and about things like tragedy of forest where children played being cut down for another factory ( slave had never seen forest, and could almost feel leaves brushing against him as he read, could almost taste tears of minor noble girl who paid for poem, and he suspected it was reason why book was put here, because Empire liked to pretend nothing ever changed, that world was always the same).

He put the book too close to his eyes, breathing in dust and that ancient, dry smell, nose almost touching too fragile pages, as he went over rows of poems again and again, losing himself in it, drowning in similes and descriptions, tracing words, slurring, lips trembling as he repeated unfamiliar ones, trying to memorise them so he could research later, trying to figure out how tenses worked. Language, it seemed to him, was as complicated as rules and corridors of palace.

That was partially why he liked it so much. Sure, people were awful, drowning in their rules and prejudices,  and they hissed and sometimes threw stuff at him, and all their thoughts were dark and selfish, but so were people everywhere, for this reason or that. Here at least, everything was clean and beautiful, there was roof and heating, there were lonely rooms and places for learning, there were prohibitions against whipping and torture, and there was...

‘’Hey! You are here too!’’ _Oh, he learnt to read? Awesome!_   came the sweet voice, and pure warm thoughts, overshadowed by cheery surprise and languid curiosity. Slave’s head snapped, and he breathed in as if he had arisen back to surface after hours underwater, and he swiftly left book on table and jumped down, bending legs and throwing forth hands so he would properly land with dull thud, with only mild bruising of ankles and knees, lowering head on floor in reverence.

‘’Wow! That was quite good jump, very graceful.’’ Contentment  and joy radiated  off emperor, caressing slave like early morning’s sunlight. Bright was his smile, as bright as gold all over him, and slave felt apprehension clutch and twist his heart, for thought they were same age, and their hair and eyes and skin were rather similar,  emperor was much bigger and stronger, seemingly as great as ancient tree nourished and cared for through centuries, while slave was tiny, scarred and twisted thing ( wonders of proper nutrition and no hard work, he would later learn). He shivered there, kneeling in front of legend, of chosen and most beloved of gods.

‘’Welcome, Your Radiant Grace, voice of gods. Thousand greetings to you, Lord of West, eternal king. Thank you for blessing us with glorious sight, Golden Crown, greatest of men...’’ _Wow, he really listens_ , thought emperor as he clapped and raised hand for slave to stop, and he did, hiding his blush, hoping that he didn’t do something wrong, that he didn’t mess up protocol, that emperor won’t throw him out.

‘’That’s enough for now. Good start, you are getting better. You can have treats and playtime for now.’’ There was deep satisfaction inside emperor, like expired caramelized sugar, voice sweet as if he was talking to favourite puppy, and slave fought down proud smile, just as he fought shiver that went over his spine at last sentence.

‘’Rise now. It’s no good even for likes of you to kneel so much, I am sure.’’ And so slave rose, as emperor chuckled, though his head remained bent, and he refused to meet those warm, dark eyes.

‘’Tables aren’t for sitting. Chairs serve that purpose.’’ _Makes sense, though. He can’t be present at lunches, and so couldn’t copy_. Slave restrained wince, just as he restrained himself from answering that he already knew that, but that there was no chair in sight.

‘’I’ll have some brought to us. And food too.’’ _Miso soup, rice with mushrooms, pheasants,  grilled beef, chocolate, strawberry cake_...  Slave had to use all of his self-control not to fall over, because he could already smell delicious feast, could already taste how filling dishes would be, as emperor typed message on small shining device.

‘’Which poems were you reading?’’ Interest burned strongly in emperor, like a intense, well tended hearth doused with oil, though his words were languid and slow, and names upon names of poems, and pieces of stanzas went through slave’s head, some familiar some less so.  Excitement and impatience made his teeth sting. Slowly, slave rose on fingertips and took book off table, presenting it to emperor as if it was offering to god  while boy chuckled at his graceless movements.

‘’ I don’t think I read that one before! But I’m sure it is good, all stuff here is. Do you come often here?’’ _How did he find it? Did he truly develop and grow so much?_ Slave waited few seconds, basking in thought, before quietly answering.

‘’I...not really often, but when I have a chance, I come. When there is no other task assigned to me, better then wasting space standing and helping nobody.’’ He stilled, waiting for admonishment, for punishment, for judgement. Common Property wasn’t supposed to do anything without being allowed, much less wander through holy palace. Even if they told him to get lost- well, told others to get rid of him, only emperor spoke directly to him- it was still no proper excuse, especially as he was browsing through private property, and that of emperor himself!

‘’Well, you have good taste then! This is one of best rooms here!’’ Emperor laughed, sound as beautiful as that of victory bell, and slave felt as if some great weight was lifted from him, and nodded slightly, while blushing, for all rooms in palace were equally grand and impossible to him.

‘’ Read the book. I love listening to your voice. I will correct you when you make mistakes.’’ Slave almost gasped, and quickly turned to first page, starting to recite in broken, raspy voice, that emperor nonetheless enjoyed, though he asked slave to repeat poem when he made mistake.

He read for four hours. But emperor fed him, and allowed him to sit.

* * *

 

‘’You useless creature! This is all your fault!’’ Screamed the  newly arrived man with graying hair and wide hat, frustration and sorrow clawing at his mind, which seemed inflammed with fear and rage, as his wife cowered in front of him, and it was only fact that there were small children hiding behind her apron that saved her from getting hit.

‘’Jonathan, please! I didn’t know, I was sleeping...aaaahhh!’’ Surprise tears through her, as painful as him pulling her blonde hair, and children cry and scream as her face turns pink, and dread stops them in their tracks, like noose around neck, and slave’s head is filled with _Daddy no, What is happening, Poor Martha, He truly went too far..._ And slave’s hands itch for a weapon, each to pull blood and moisture out and leave shriveled corpse.

‘’Enough! Have you no shame, you stupid man?’’ The investigator shouted at merchant, who let his wife go, torn between instinct to scream at foreigner that it was his family and he could do as he willed with them and fear of highly-ranked officer.

‘’Your village is plagued by witchcraft and you dare accuse your wife for tragedy that befell you! As if she didn’t bear and raise your daughter!’’ _Poor woman_ , thought the investigator as Martha’s pale blue eyes filled with awe and gratitude, and sobbing thanks and excuses for her husband, almost pleading man who later that day slapped her.

‘’Now, I understand pain of losing child, but I ask you all to remain calm and not accuse each other.  Doing so you just help the monster that plagues your village. And if anybody else thinks any of you could have prevented abduction of any child, I ask you to demonstrate it on this Liminal here.’’ Man pointed at him, and slave wanted to scream _you don’t know if it’s doing of witches, you idiot, you accuse them without proof_ , but that would be unseemly, so he just moved his head a fraction as everybody looked at him, as fear filled them up, as Jonathan gulped, as children shivered, as Martha narrowed her eyes.

‘’Good. Now please, everybody return to your everyday jobs while me and my team report to central command, and this thing here goes to patrol the witch ghetto.’’ And they do so, walking away to their houses and fields, while slave, unable and unallowed even to bristle, goes from beyond the trees, in deep and sad wood.

There weren’t many forests left  in the world. Empire grew and spread, and needed more factories and more fields for it’s overpopulated subjects, so they cut down the forests, because they were waste of space, because what if  certain tree was rare, that just meant it should be taken care off already, they were stupid and ugly and could be converted in useful, marketable things. And who needed animals that you couldn’t keep as pets or for labour or food? And they got rid of many spirits, and diminished mages in doing so, and left less spaces for Old People to hide.

If forest was left standing, it meant that it was either valuable in some say such as contributing to continued existence of animals like rabbits and deer, protected by some old noble’s dying will, nearby mage ghetto, haunted, or too small to bother with. In practice, it was most likely some combination of several factors.

Slave thought that forest was big and beautiful, but he had only shortly seen two before. It disagreed with him, it whispered to him with wind and soil, with sap and pitch, of  days long gone by, of animals and insects that didn’t exist anymore, plants that hadn’t grown there in centuries. It told him about spirits that had dispersed, about Old People driven out, about how it was cut and tamed into this tiny grove, by men and contagion both, how it could barely support it’s mages anymore- for as they defended it’s trees and animals and spirits, forest provided them with herbs and homes and creatures to aid them in their life and workings. It was tiny, and pathetic, and weak and violated and sleeping, and ashamed, but slave tried to whisper to it that it was wrong, that it was beautiful, that it was one of greatest things he had ever seen and he had been in palaces of richest nobles, and none could compare.

It didn’t seem to convince it very much, but pleasant smell filled his nostrils, and there were no leaves underneath his feet for rest of his walk, for which he thanked profusely. If only he was allowed to remain here, to delight and defend trees, to become lost in green and shadows, to watch seasons cycle as he guarded animals and mages, kept away humans and Contagion...

 _Ah aha ah, harder, yesss give it to me_... Slave stopped, as desire and arousal slammed in him, such that he staggered back, and his skin felt hot and oily, and misty, sweet haze overcame his eyes, as he felt his shoulders relax and adrenaline rush,  and moan tried to arise from his mouth before he forced it down, before he gripped alien thoughts and pushed them down, prevented them from laying over his own mind.

 _Oh sweet mother, this is wonderful, I can’t believe_... But they, at least this second mind, for they went swiftly and smoothly, worn out but familiar, and lacked sting and freshness of surprise, or first time, lacked that excitement and worry and disbelief. Those people certainly didn’t mess around in woods for first time.

‘’Beautiful. Beautiful, I’m plagued by perverts wherever I go. Really, don’t know what more I could ask for.  But what else is simple whore’s child good for? Next people will start propositioning me as they try to kill me...’’ He mumbled as he went on, feeling lust and joy and affection and even bit of nervousness swell up inside him, like a muddy, boiling cocktail, and he was sure he could hear Fates chuckle as he followed.

So he followed, silently and softly, trail of messy, sweaty thoughts that run through his head like steel cords. His skin felt sticky and hot, and he ached to take off his uniform, his armor-suit, but that wasn’t allowed, and wouldn’t be good for anybody to know how he really looked like. And he fought down his arousal with ease, for he was still a whore’s child and brothel raised, and every once or twice they got creepy customers they hoisted off at him, who demanded complete control of how he behaved, which proved useful skill at this moment and with his... royal escapades.

He followed thoughts and feelings that invaded him, that brought flush over his cheeks, that made his throat feel tight and dry. He almost could feel phantom hands caressing him, could feel some sort of hunger that made him offer himself up as sacrifice, could feel two minds invading his own, trying to replace it, frustration and fear that transformed in desire and arousal, fuelled by youth and stupidity. They chose to mate in this place, he was made aware, exactly because of dangers present

Couldn’t choose worse time to experiment with kinks. Thought slave, as he came closer, as soon actual sounds filled his ears, panting and moaning and whining, and flame of lust grew hotter, as if slave was gripping coals in bare hands. He could have turned in spirit, and spied  that way (because only witches hid in woods, and knowing Liminal and investigators were around meant they wouldn’t go out without damn good reason, and sex had to be only part of it), but he would have wasted too much of his aether that way. His reserves were small, fast to dry up, and hard to gather back. He had to be careful with them.

When voices got close, and he could glimpse something,  a bit of skin and fabric, he quickly sat down inside a ring of mushrooms, with diameter of some four meters, a circle of white mushrooms growing over dark green grass. There were legends about it, especially in this part of Empire, which was practically on border with Eastern Hemisphere, where witches and cunning folk were so prevalent. Those circles were long since associated with witches, said to mark places of their gatherings, particularly in some lands of East, and on these Isles some claimed those were places where faeries, spirits of fortune that inhabited Isles and hid under hills, danced, and that to walk in there was to invite curses and doom on your family, and more important, your livestock.

Slave felt strangely safe there, in that place that seemed so simple and small, yet spoke of curses and dangerous spirits, avoided by all sane . But then, he was Liminal after all.

‘’What a nice sight you are.’’ Came the words from beyond bushes and trees, and slave saw clearly a young man, his age he’d say, short and wiry, dressed in patched-up rough brown wool, various pouches and tools hanging from it, gripping and slamming his dick in muscled man who was kneeling below.

‘’Do you open up for your fellow guards like that, Ryan? Or just for me?’’ Ryan-who turned out to be border guard with dyed blue hair, and well, wasn’t that a lovely surprise-  squealed as words hit him like arrows, closing eyes as muscles on his back trembled.

‘’You, James, you!’’ Ryan cried out, trembling, barely holding himself up by his knees and elbows, as James gripped him by dark blue hair and tugged, slamming in his ass repeatedly.

‘’Hmmm, not sure how much I trust that. You aren’t lying to me, right?’’ With a cruel smirk, showing crooked teeth,  James  leaned down and bit Ryan at neck, and slave felt bolt of ecstasy pass right through him, shared by both of them.

‘’AAAA-no, no, never, never to you!’’ Ryan shouted, startling some birds, as he shook, blush coming over his wide shoulders and clean face, James gripping his strong, thick chest.

‘’Maybee... I may believe that, but that you haven’t even sucked off one? Got down on knees and begged them to elt you blow them, come over your cute face?’’  Ryan’s underwear and pants were pulled down to ankles, and James, who was fully dressed tugged his tunic up above his chest.

‘’No, never, just you, I swear, I swear!’’ He lied, slave knew that, seeing memories that flew as Ryan rambled and lied, desperately mumbling, and slave saw him kneeling in village’s glory hole, sucking off guards and farmers, swallowing loads after loads of cum, grinning at tasty, salty seed, even as shame overtook him.

‘’ You went two weeks without cock? Really?’’ James seemed to hit right place, as shock and desire hit slave like brick, and Ryan screamed as he fell down onto the earth, dragging his face through grass.

‘’Yeah, really, it was so hard but you said...’’ And tears went to Ryan’s green eyes, and James almost stopped for second, _am I being too hard on him_ , while Ryan bit down shame, swallowing it as he spat out lie.

‘’Well, that is quite the accomplishment. Have you played with yourself?’’  James placed kisses upon Ryan’s shoulders and spine, occasionally biting, but never where they might be seen, and slave wondered whether there was established kink for humans that liked to get fucked by lower castes, slaves and mages, and how they would react to his beau. Respect or disgust- how far were Liminals from acceptable?

‘’Nope, not at all, I got nothing for two weeks, Jameeeees...’’ Ryan whined, lied, as memories overflew, of Ryan fingering himself, taking out his secret dildo, even jerking off his short, thick dick then eating up his cum.

‘’Good, good. Wouldn’t what daddy dearest to find out, would we?’’ And now fantasy bled through, from both of them, of their friends and relatives coming here, finding them, James dreaming of their horror and villager’s shame, Ryan of everybody pointing and laughing at him. Apparently, in village too small for caste divisions to stop marriages (unless it was something extreme  like, say, a merchant courting whore), they had to come up with some other prejudices to torment people with.

‘’Fuck, James.’’  Moan that came out of Ryan was long drawn out and guttural, and slave felt his pleasure race down to bones, just as he suddenly knew Ryan came thrice, and licked come up from grass, while James was still unspent.

‘’That deserves reward, doesn’t it? Yes, it does.’’ James came closer to earth, his pale face painted pink, and Ryan rose his head and arched his neck, opening up his lips, waiting, dread and wonder twisting inside him, as James came closer, as Ryan looked at his bitten, thin lips, and waited for kiss... Only to burst with shame and satisfaction as James spit in his mouth instead. He mulled it in his mouth, held it with shock and reverence under mouth, before swallowing hot, thin drops in minutes, dragging on.

‘’Just joking. Here it is.’’ And for last time, James pumped in Ryan, who screamed so loud that slave wouldn’t have been surprised if both witches and humans run over to see who was being tortured, and spasmed so much his tight muscles and thick ass jiggled as ropes of James’s cum poured inside, just as tears rolled down Ryan’s cheeks as James pulled out, and blue-haired guard collapsed.

They both sat in grass for few minutes (well, James sat while Ryan laid down as if he had passed out), before young witch rose and put cock in pants, buttoning them up. Slowly, Ryan followed him, rising on wobbly legs, blushing as he clothed himself, cum slipping out into his underwear, and slave saw he was taller then James for three heads at least, yet seemed almost afraid to look him in eyes.

‘’ This never happened. Understood, witchling?’’ Ryan asked, trying to regain some composure, failing to sound confident as he thought of cum trickling down his cheeks, staining his underwear.

‘’Of course mister. You were just here on patrol, and admonished me for gathering herbs so close to border.’’ Annoyance James managed to keep out of voice, but not mind, and it buzzed inside slave’s skull, alongside _He will then have to pick grass out of hair himself._

‘’God. And James? This doesn’t make me homo. Just a convenience.’’ Spoke Ryan as he walked off, trying to tidy up his clothes so that it wouldn’t be obvious what he was doing instead of working, already thinking what he’d say if it turned out uniform was somehow damaged . James just smiled and rolled his eyes as after few steps Ryan groaned.

‘’Of course, mister. You are as straight as arrow. Just make sure to shower and don’t bend over for anybody else.’’ And then he slapped Ryan’s thick, solid butt, and laughed as guard squealed and run while having trouble standing upright, as cum continued to dribble down into his boxers. James laughed until Ryan run from his sight, in different direction then circle slave was residing in.

‘’You know, it’s very unsafe to do such stuff here.’’ _What!... It’s coming from fairy ring!_ He dashed forward,  panic fuelling him like wind, not before taking out his blasting rod and calling up his familiar, sharp, slithery little imp, with small statute but long fingers and tail and curling pink horns, green speckled with brown like walnut sapling.

‘’And certainly unsafe to rush like that at meeting place of spirits, especially when you don’t know what might await you.’’ _What.. No, no, no way!_ Fear and loathing rose in young witch, as he beheld a Liminal in front of him, black and white thing ready to tear him apart, to have him scream for hours, to eat up his soul.

‘’Easy there. I am not here to fight, I just want to talk. And if you try, I won’t kill you-but it won’t be pretty.’’ _What the fuck, oh no, I must get it.._ And image flared in slave’s mind, of poppet of cloth, stabbed with needles, and men screaming as blood flowed from them.

‘’That applies to that poppet of yours. Please, leave it, there is no way you can align it to me so it would work. I’d also have you know my craft is heavily based around needles and pin, so please keep them away from me. You are pretty stealthy though.’’   _How did it.. As if it has a craft, dumb wicked thing_. Threats weren’t best way to start off, especially when slave was unsure if he could follow through them, but bluffing was always good to practice, especially when he spoke truth-there was no way James could align spell to him, without name or face or lock of hair.

‘’ How... How do you..’’ _Oh what is happening, oh hell grandma warned me, but she didn’t say it speaks, how can it do so..._ And panic and fear and rage flowed through him, alongside horror stories of what Liminals did to mages, making slave feel as if he was swallowing dried, caked mud, but man in front of him didn’t shake. That was good for him.

‘’ I’m what they call defective. And no, I won’t steal your face.’’  _Like hell it won’t, damned thing! Why me, out of everybody?_ And thoughts and information filled slave’s head, of  defective Liminals eating faces and names of people in attempt to steal their identities, of fact that James wasn’t good at combat at all, and was barely average in curses, and that was bit of disappointment to his grandmother, that he worked as mediator for angry dead and spied on humans, that he was seer and Dreamer and none would help him here...

‘’ I won’t. I only imitate, I can’t steal. Those are just fairy tales. Also, don’t think of sending your familiar to others. I really don’t want to stand up and catch imp when we can just talk.’’ Imp glowered at him, and gears turned in James’s head, _Crap I can’t warm grandma and Old Ben, of course it was made to kill us it has experience, anything I do it will notice._

‘’Very well. Go on, I’d really like to hear what Liminal has to say to mage.’’ Hatred that poured off him was deep, intense, that same hatred slave felt towards merchants who sold lives and children, to smiths that made collars and applied brandings, hatred born out of generations of oppression and abuse. He could understand it, to point he almost wanted to strangle himself.

‘’First thing, higher ups sent four of their people, one investigator and three officers who are only brutes, and me, a defective Liminal. Therefore, they aren’t particularly invested in this village, and don’t care what happens to locals as long as they shut up. So they aren’t likely to pursue and torment you very much. ’’ Humans really liked their divisions. He breathed in James’s aura, signature of his power, average amount  but above slave’s, not that it was hard to accomplish. It felt like air, like sky at twilight, like freshness that came from threshold once door was opened, like last breath of a dying man.

‘’Second, and this isn’t particularly good news, since idiots already decided witches are responsible, and are just waiting for excuse to pin the blame on you. I’d say it was more deed of some villager, local serial killer, but who would listen to me? So be careful when going out, and be careful not to slip up if they start questioning you.’’ _Great news, bravo you dumb wicked thing... But why is it telling me this? Could it be trap?_ Thought James, and his irritation felt as if there was sand in slave’s eyes.

‘’Third, I already dealt with one wraith, so whoever is responsible for this mess is in cohorts with Contagion.  They don’t know that, but please be careful with malignant magic. You don’t want to be run over by a horde, and I don’t want to deal with one for third time in a week.’’ _What the fuck, oh no, no, is it serious, no way, we are fucked_ and slave waited for panic to be shut down once again, as James’s mind overtook control and fought back emotions with a stick, to wait until it was safe to break down.

‘’ Fourth, somebody is dabbling with Old Magic here.  Children killed at altars and power from blood forcibly taken and such wonderful things. So please tell Old Ben and your grandma to check if somebody resorted to it.’’ _Oh hell, how does it_... And slave watched as his face turned pale, and thought how James definitely inherited his nose and height from Griselda.

‘’And finally... Please be careful when you fuck here. Imagine if you stepped on hedgehog, or startled deer. Wouldn’t be nice situation, I wager.’’ James blushed, and disbelief felt like anvil falling over slave, like hundreds of mirrors shattering.

‘’What the- that is no worry of yours, you creep! What you know of such things! And don’t you dare report us or I will-’’ _Oh wow, did it watch,  hell, a fucking Liminal watched us, can it even be attracted to others, oh what if it says something_ , oh no...  Worry overflew, like a tide of ink, and slave knew witches and his grandmother wouldn’t really approve and would think it is too risky, but if humans found out there would be hell to pay...

‘’Don’t worry for that. I won’t  tell anybody. Wouldn’t be right.’’ Gods only knew what two of them were doing was no crime at all, and slave was either way guilty of much bigger things then that.

‘’And I’m supposed to believe that because? You got educated on tolerance by your owners?’’ He didn’t love that guy. There was lust and affection and loneliness and excitement binding them together, but no real love. But it was enough, and still far healthier and purer then whatever mess was tying slave to his human.

‘’ There is a human boy I fancy. He is very pretty and twice as dumb and honestly very awful and useless person, but I like him, and I think you can guess how big my chances are.’’ And yet he did manage to get close to emperor, closer then anybody in his life.

‘’Right. And I’m supposed to believe that? Next you will tell me you fell in love on your own.’’ _Of course, such thing has no shame and no guile... It dares to claim what it saw, and it dares call Ryan such horrible names._.. Slave almost scoffed. That Ryan wasn’t bad looking, but he felt he had better catch.

‘’ He is a noble. Young, powerful,  with coffins of gold and hundred estates. Half of city from which I come is in love with him at least but has no chance at all, so I decided to try too.’’ It was probably blasphemy, to demean emperor like that, but he didn’t care. It felt great, to use his voice, to speak to a fellow mage, to confide in somebody. He could understand tales they told here, of faeries spiriting somebody off to keep them for hundred years. Somebody who wouldn’t even be allowed to harm you, to play perfect pet... Like how ‘’kind’’ nobles thought of him.

‘’But it doesn’t matter if you don’t believe me. Just go home and send my message. Lie about it, say your imp brought you information, tell the truth, that I threatened you for sake of my boredom. Just pass it along.’’ It felt horrible, fear his fellow mages showed in front of him, and it felt great, because unlike humans they were ware their complaints and demands for his destruction wouldn’t be answered.

‘’And if I don’t?’’ James asked, and thought of command to utter to his familiar.

‘’You could go on with trying to send message with your imp, and drag your  fellows while I walk off. Or you could say nothing, and investigator will come up with excuse needed to hang you all, and I will have to wait until it is finished to deal with killer and wraiths.’’ He shrugged, gesture so natural that James bawled, after he finished jumping away, thinking Liminal was ready to jump on him.

‘’And why are you telling me this?’’ It had to be trap, who knows how defective it is, maybe it was programmed, and slave thought how in some normal state news of defective Liminal would be something whole world would be aware of by extensive digital network, but emperors preferred to keep their people in absolute dark about everything.

‘’First, my mission is to get rid of Contagion and find killer, not serve hysterical fantasies. Second, it is easier this way. Third, It would be pity for this beautiful forest to lose it’s guardians. Fourth, I was bored and you are smart. Fifth, Investigator is irritating and I don’t want him to get his way.’’ He could have said he would prefer not to have to kill mages, because that was very hard and sad, but wouldn’t really be smart to mention.

‘’Now, you can go. Unless you would prefer to stay and talk with me.’’ James actually laughed at that, outrageous laughter full of anger and relief.

‘’And what would we talk about? Should we also braid each other’s hair?’’ If it even ahs a hair. Maybe it looks like lizard below.

‘’Yours is little short, but I could make something with some pins. And you could talk about whatever, I’d listen for intricacies of dialect.’’ James looked at him in way that sent across confusion almost as good as his mind did.

‘’Words and figures of speech which are special to this region and it’s people and can’t be found elsewhere. ‘’ Rather interesting field of study, tragically underfunded because Empire liked pretending there was only one true language, and especially liked destroying surviving remnants of previous languages. Slave hoped he would talk emperor in funding it some day.

‘’...’’ _What the ever loving fuck...._

‘’I spent a whole year protecting haunted castle whose lady was insistent her children get best possible tutors. Those guys could go on for hours. I almost had no choice but to start imitating them.’’ Well, those tutors also conducted experiments to see how good he was at picking up languages, which mostly meant trying to make him behave like a parrot and beating him when he showed ability to speak on his own, but still it was interesting.

‘’Well, not to keep you busy anymore. Sorry for stress, may you have nice day.’’ _As if_ , thought James and walked off, and when he thought slave couldn’t see him anymore he broke into run. Slave rose, dusted off himself, left some aether in circle as offering, pulled water out of mouse’s hole, then went back to village.

He just had to wait for Mrs. Griselda to make a move.

* * *

 

‘’Awww come on! How long am I gonna be waiting?’’ Emperor whined, legs folded at his chair,  while slave stood by and counted himself blessed that nothing had been broken yet again. Technically, this room like every other belonged to emperor, but slave was one for whom it was made and one who worked there, so he thought it was allowed for him to consider it his in some way.

‘’Brow powder is finished, and rouge is drying, Your Radiant Majesty.  I’m about halfway through finishing  blush.’’ Answered the slave. He ground down flour, rose and pearl powder in glinting china mortar, and beeswax and rose oil was boiling nearby.

‘’Can’t you at least make it go quicker?’’ _I didn’t know it would be so boring-though the view is pretty nice_. Fact that they had same exchange across years didn’t seem to matter. Slave couldn’t determine whether compliment came by naturally or was attempt at useless, unnecessary  flattery.

‘’You wanted this done ancient way, without technology. So I’m sorry, my master but you will have to wait.’’ Golden Emperor loved old things as much as his sister, White Empress hated them.  When she was in good mood, instead of destroying ancient statues or books or recipes, she would send them to him, just as he would send her newest inventions that were made on his lands.

 _Bet he never asked for her to keep him safe from nightmares_ , thought the slave.

‘’Still. You can’t make it go faster?’’ Emperor whined, as slave continued hitting  the powders with pestle, creating white-pink mix. He rolled his eyes at suggestion, but smiled when he saw emperor preserve old text (if only they could return it to people to whom it belonged- his emperor was no kinder colonizer then his sister, just different shade of same violation).

‘’I could, my master... if you would like me to put something that ahs been magically altered on your face.’’ Choking sound and disgust that flooded room were enough of answer. Truly, it would have no consequences, just bit of playing with physics, but no need for him to mention that, not as if emperor would understand.

‘’Evening... don’t joke like that. We don’t mention that stuff here.’’ And sla- Evening, gripped pestle tighter, and continued to grind down powder, as he sweetly spoke then.

‘’My apologies, Your Radiant Grace. I didn’t mean to- I overstepped my place.’’ His place was to kneel and thank profusely for every scrap of attention thrown at him, not to demand to be treated as, gods forbid, an actual person.

‘’Shush, Evening. And it’s Rice Grain. Or rice, if it’s too long.’’ Emperor got up, his new read coat fluttering through air as he came to Evening, laying head across Evening’s scarred shoulder blades (despite how uncomfortable it was), wrapping hands around him.

‘’You are far too kind to me.’’ He said, while trying to wiggle free of embrace, as confining as any steel chain, attempting to continue his work.

‘’Well, you can thank me by story. Or wearing purple.’’ Rice rubbed his hair across Evening’s back, slightly relaxing his strangling hold.

‘’...Story it is then. Any particular requirements?’’ _Nope_ , thought the emperor, and his joy and excitement felt like fly moving through throat.

‘’Once upon a time, there was a noble girl, who was incredibly well-mannered and devout. It was said that she knew all names of gods, and all their holy days, and preparations for every festival,  and preferred offerings, and location of every temple.’’ Evening doubted this very much, as there were more gods then there were stars in sky, and he recalled being child and being told there are eight million gods in world.

‘’Always she paid deference to gods, and most of all to great Four Emperors, and she made it her life mission to travel over whole world and visit their four great shrines. She hoped that, when she came of age, she would be allowed to take mantle of priestess and serve gods and emperors in that way.’’ They were currently in one, the Golden palace, Great Western Shrine, one of four sacred hearts of Empire, and it’s master was hugging him, beaming at hearing of importance people placed on him.

‘’But this didn’t sit well with her older brother, who had long since plotted to marry her, so he wouldn’t sully their  line with what he considered lesser blood. And, since their parents were long since dead, he  was her legal caretaker, and his permission was needed to let her become a priestess.’’ It was popular, but not often spoken thing among nobility, he learnt. Incest was polarising topic, but if it was between siblings and for sake of purity of blood well then it could be allowed.... Emperor fortunately didn’t seem inclined to that.

‘’So, one day, he proposed to her, and as she was under his household, she had no choice but to accept. She begged him, cried and screamed and tore at her hair, but he refused her while, for he thought that he knew better.’’ Hatred shot up in Rice, and Evening wondered whether he would have felt same if girl was of lower caste, or slave, and man demanded just to assault her.

‘’ At last, driven by her sorrow and fear, she run out, to distant, small shrine which only she visited and tended, which overlooked sea and sat on a steep cliff. She thought that if she would have no freedom or honour, then it would be better to have no life. Long did she run, and long did she climb, until her fine robes were torn and her  jewellery  lost, until she fell down in front of altar, collapsed and tired.’’ Some inner cold overcame Rice, though he didn’t shudder, but he gripped Evening little higher, who took pot with wax and rose oil from flame, and poured it in mortar.

‘’And in dream, a voice spoke to her, as deep as sea, and only bit less gentle then hibiscus petals, and older then shrine itself. It spoke to her, and called her a wise and devout woman, who had tended them when nobody else did, and in gratitude gave her advice. And when she woke, she found herself near her home, her robes repaired and her jewellery returned.’’  Evening wondered how many of those tales were originally about mages, who heard voices of gods and were often drawn to serve them, before humanity twisted them.

‘’She came home, and told her brother she would accept his offer, but only if they first privately married, in late evening, at site of old cliff shrine, without servants or anybody else but two of them, by most ancient customs. And he, thinking she would grant him her virginity, accepted.’’ Oil mixed with powder, and turned deep pink colour, and Evening continued to move pestle around, staining white mortar as powder and oil joined.

‘’ In the evening, a woman drove out to shrine, with fear in her heart, and words of a god in her mind. And when she came by shrine, she found nothing of her brother, save for his cloak, which covered a bush of hibiscus flowers, which she had never before seen.’’  Oil and powder united, in a pink paste same deep colour as petals of roses from which it was made, and it resembled a thick, semi-melted ice cream.

‘’Great search was organized for him, but never did they find anything more then a cloak. Woman inherited everything, and managed her lands incredibly well, until she came of age and with support of her advisors, became a travelling priestess and gave her lands to state and her treasures to poor. And she was known as most holy woman, who travelled over whole world several times, and who spoke against every injustice, even against those that were invisible, or which others pretended not to notice.’’ With wooden spoon he put blush in ceramic pot, and hoped that woman gave her lands to state with resentment, that she saw Great Shrines and denounced them as things of folly and hubris, that she spoke against slavery.

‘’ And whenever she passed her home, she would bring offering to shrine, which grew prosperous,  and look over hibiscuses, making sure they were properly tended, feeding them, taking away sick branches or useless leaves.’’ He hoped that nobleman was still conscious, that he knew he ate shit, that her garden shears hurt him as if she dug them in flesh and snapped bone, that god of shrine spoke to here again.

‘’And here, finished! Now we just need to wait for painted paper to dry.’’  Rice gasped and held pot, looking at it with awe and wonder, as if his factories didn’t  produce much better and precious things then one Liminal sex slave’s pathetic attempt, as he hugged and attempted to kiss Evening again and again.

‘’Thanks thanks thanks!  Oh, everybody will envy me! I will be most beautiful!’’ And at that, Evening smiled crookedly, and sank in praise and hug, dreaming of placing poison in blush and rouge, of wrapping his scarred, calloused hands around that pretty neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Path lined with balls of blue flame- hitodama, a youkai from Japanese folklore, souls of dead separated from body, in animes often shown as blue
> 
> The woman who had died ages ago counting plates- Banchō Sarayashiki legend, with several version, centering on servant Okiku who by various ways loses one of her master's plates and dies for it. her ghost rises and counts remaining plates
> 
> Woman with curtain of matted hair-Kejōrō a youkai appearing near brothels, famous for long hair, very beautiful and sought after among youkai
> 
> Oni- one of most famous youkai, ogre like creatures starring in many fairy tales and legends
> 
> Tengu- spirits of mountains and forests, can be demonic or form of kami. Shown as birdlike creatures, or winged men with long noses
> 
> Kappa- reptilian water youkai, likes to eat cucumbers and humans
> 
> Foxes with many tails plotting mischief- kitsune, another famous youkai, trickster spirit
> 
> Giant skeletons arise from mass graves of poor- Gashadokuro, said to be 15 taller then humans, created from great amount of unburied bodies, of those that died in battle or of starvation
> 
> Eight million gods- In Shinto there are said to be eight million kami, which is meant to represent infinity. Slave was born in what would be Japan and sold across world as small child. God isn't best translation of kami, but Empire's language treats it as such, because it tries to assimilate all cultures in it's own.
> 
> Fairy rings- naturally occurring circles of mushrooms, popular in European folklore. In French and German tied with witches, in British isles said to be dancing places of fae. Not to enter if you don't wish to attract curse or be kidnapped
> 
> Spirits of fortune- terms fairy, fay etc come from fey meaning doom and Latin fatum, meaning fate. As they brought good and bad to humans, here in my story they are spirits of fate and fortune.
> 
> Familiar- in folklore, a demon or malicious spirit serving, teaching or giving powers to witch. Here, a spirit bound with witch, from whom they primarily draw power.
> 
> Imp- small mischievous creatures, seen as either kind of fairy or demon (latter here). believed not to be terribly dangerous, though constant prankster, serving witches as spies and informers.
> 
> Poppet- A doll representing certain person, which is used in spells placed on them. Most famously shown in media as Voodoo doll, though it is derived from European beliefs and isn't particularly sued in Voodoo, maybe not at all, I'm not sure. Needs a link with victim to properly work sympathetic magic (so photo, parts of body, true name etc). James has neither and can't use it against slave.
> 
> Blasting rod- A wand sued by witches to ''blast'' victim with curses, such as illness, crop failure and such.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zNsLgnuRgf4- a diy traditional Chinese makeup, showing what slave is doing for emperor.
> 
> Should I refer to slave as Evening and emperor as Rice to make things easier?


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